Sometimes I feel like I’m ripping in half. Just literally ripping in half. I feel like I’m an implode, and an explode at the same time. And I don’t know why. Nobody wants to know why. I can’t get anything out in words. I just wanna scream. And kick things. And cry.
I HAVE WAY TO MUCH I WANNA FUCKING SAY.
AND NO CLUE HOW TO SAY IT.
I AM SO. SO. FRUSTRATED.
Like I met you, and you were that “cool guy” everyone wanted to know.
And we were not even like barely friends. The only thing I new of you was how you winked at me and smiled the day I wore a funky pare of green socks that I meant to hide with my boots but one fell down.
And I was rather weird. And rather weird looking.
And you were rather cool. And rather cool looking.
And then one day I ran into you in a parking lot where we shared a cigarette, and you told me I was badass, but you were coming off of a high from shrooms and. You really don’t think I’m very badass at all.
And then I didn’t hear from you for months.
And one late night you messaged me saying you specifically needed to talk to me. But it was like 12am and I live in the middle of nowhere. But you were kicked out of your house, so I drove and got you; practically a stranger. And you stayed at my house.
Then you told me I was beautiful and you kissed me.
Then we held hands and walked to a creek.
I dumped my coffee everywhere like a dork the next morning.
We became friends.
Then we just became each others everyday.
You make me laugh more than anyone in the world. Then we became love.
But we didn’t at the same time.
My thoughts are a tiny bit jibber-jabery if that’s even a word. If it even makes sense. It seemed like the best way to say jumbled, yet rant like, excessively talkative. I at the time don’t even know why I would use silly words, and also, am at quite a blank of how to really explain my mind at all. I just walked passed an old psychology book from a course I had taken about 6 months ago. In my head, psychology is a load of common sense logical bull-shit, made to organize and box things in. People; in specific. As if you can know someone by outwardly analyzing them and looking into their actions, and “how they do this” and “how they do that” and suddenly you just KNOW them. And box them into a group. A fancy lengthy career to say, “theres a million people JUST-LIKE-YOU, how do you feel about that?” And they have that calm tone. And smile that’s faker than a Victoria’s Secret model’s tittys. How comforting is that. And their advice is always “Lets take steps” and my mind says “Lets watch you fall down some.” Long story short. I’ve always had a hate thing for those weirdo therapist psycology majors. The close minded and willing to care if payed. In my opinion, if you’re at a point in life where you would suggest in your mind to get some therapy. What you really need is a friend, and some authentic love. But I know I’m the one doing the very boxing in I hate so much right now, there is good ones. Not the ones I knew. Opinions. Troubles, troublestroublestroubles. I feel like I have seen them. And know them, but not as well as some. I have felt the discomfort of sadness. And the ache of lonliness. And the emptiness of empty, empty, empty. When I see small children, tiny babies. Little ones running all around. I catch myself watching them instensely; growing heavily emotional. Wanting to cry. Because I don’t get to know how it feels to see my small, little, pretty baby running all around. I do not get to hold them. I do not get to love them. I do not get to see them. Because he, or she. Is gone. And I wanted to give him or her and name. Decide on what we thought it was. A boy, or a girl. I was afraid to ask. Because it’s a far too touchy subject. To just barely be a mommy, and then be told you won’t be anymore. It’s hard to know how to feel. It’s hard to know at all… It doesn’t feel real. It makes me sad. But it wasn’t supposed to be. And I understand. But to understand doesn’t mean it’s okay. I feel sick to my stomach. Maybe I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow.