it hit me the other day that the people we so desperately want to “fight” for us will never ever be the ones who do. and we don’t appreciate the ones who are desperately chasing us, because we’ve placed them in the proverbial friendzone.
just the fact of WISHING someone would pursue us means that they probably never were… and that’s for the sole reason that they don’t want to. and you can’t force those feelings upon someone, no matter what movies and books and tv shows tell you.
maybe we need to look around us and realize who is actually willing to fight for you.
i know it was only a month that we were a part of each other’s lives. 30 days, give or take a few more breathless days of whirlwind falling.
i know that everyone, you included, thinks i should not be having this hard of a time getting you out of my head and out of my heart. and i don’t know, i guess everyone is right.
all i really know is that you made me happy, right when i was on the verge of giving up on finding someone altogether. it’s probably not fair to put this on you, but i’m finding myself at the cusp of that cliff again.
and it feels so cruel that you’re just not in my life anymore. that your number is no longer in my phone, that i can’t hold your hand, that the past few days have literally been the longest i’ve gone without seeing you, since i’ve known you. yet, the love bite you left on my heart is lingering. literally and figuratively.
it’s like the past month never happened. and this just feels so unfair.
i wonder how many times you have had to feel your heart crushed because the person you care about has just decided to give up on you, and what the two of you had the potential to become.
what hurts the most is how blindsided i was, and you claimed you were just as blindsided. things between us were going so well, and one day, out of nowhere, it’s like none of it even mattered.
i wish you could let your guard down and realize that thinking and worrying about all the things that could possibly go wrong will only serve as a self-fulfilling prophecy. i’m not every girl who has hurt you, and you’re not the same guy who has screwed up in the past.
but you’re scared, and i understand that. i just wish that i had been enough to calm your fears. that the prospect of just a couple of more months by my side didn’t leave you with such a sour taste in your mouth.
i know you said not to sell myself short but it’s hard when this entire situation is screaming “not enough” into my heart.
i could have really fallen for you. and when that happens, you’ll do whatever it takes to make things work. even if it means letting the other person go to start new adventures and begin their life. but we crashed hard. and it hurts. can you really blame me?
this is not the good note that you wanted for us. and i’m not sure if that even bothers you anymore.
This is my second tattoo, which I got on Saturday.
The words are from one of my favourite Marianas Trench songs, a band that means the entire world to me.
These four words have been my mantra all throughout my fight for recovery. (I’ve suffered from an eating disorder, self harm, and all sorts of suicidal thoughts.) This song, and these words helped keep me strong. I still am haunted everyday by the memories of the kids who bullied me for my entire childhood - these kids truly ruined my life.
"Nobody will break you" are the words that remind me that the only thing I need is myself. There is nobody and nothing outside of myself that can break my resolve to fight and my resolve to live. I am the only one in the whole world who can "break" me, and I’m deciding that I am unbroken.
Which brings me to the heart. That’s the heart that Demi Lovato signs her name with, and has sort of become a symbol of strength amongst Demi fans. I was beginning to seek treatment for my eating disorder around the same time that she went into treatment. I didn’t know at the time that the demons that she was struggling with were so similar to mine, and I don’t want to give any sort of credit for my recovery to her… but her music really did help me through some of the toughest times. I was in the hospital when her song Skyscraper came out, and her voice picked me out of the hole into which I was burying my life. She made a decision to be unbroken, and so did I.
I used to look down at my wrist and see some of the scars that were a physical reminder of all the pain I continuously brought upon myself through self destruction. Now, I can look at my wrist and be reminded that I am strong.
as down and upset that i’ve been with life lately, it has not even once come close to the feelings i’ve felt while in the midst of depression. and that’s so amazing to me.
I hate that cliche of “opening myself up and feeling vulnerable” only to get hurt two days later. But it happened. and I hate that I’m so upset over it.
When I was on a trip recently, two of my friends asked me why I love Marianas Trench so much and I legitimately could not even put it into words. So this is my attempt. Here we go.
I’m sitting in my campus pub trying to do homework and read some of what I need to read for class, and I just came across this.
I don’t want to just share this story to join the “trend” of people magically supporting the anti-bullying cause all over social media, only once a tragedy occurs. I just need to say my piece.
A lot of you know that bullying has affected me profoundly. When I was in grade school, I was tormented by my classmates for four years. I was seven years old when it started and when I finally escaped the hell that was my grade school, I was only eleven.
It doesn’t seem like such a huge deal but it has changed and ruined my entire life. I wish I could write exact descriptions of instances that happened to me during those times, but when I look back, I can only conjure up an emotion: a deep rising feeling of absolute terror in the pit of my stomach. Every day I was made to feel lower than the scum of the earth. I was constantly called out in the hallways and in the classroom by the “popular” girls who led the pack. The rest of my class obviously followed. They picked on anything about me that they could. My hair. My clothes. The fact that I was overweight. My eyebrows. Anything. I went home every night crying and wondering what made me so different that I had to stand out so much. I dreaded recesses. I would spend the fifteen minutes (that felt like hours) curled up in a corner with a book, or hiding in corners. I remember one year in particular that I befriended the “special needs” kids and played with them during recess - just because nobody else would play with me. It’s unfortunate that this is true, but it only made a bigger target out of me. When I hit seventh grade and the internet was just starting to become accessible to everyone, I was the target of some minimal cyber bullying as well. I would get death threats over MSN messenger and email (the only form of “social networking” we had at that time). One girl in particular had all of her friends, even from other schools, add me to their contact lists and just berate me.
There was another instance in seventh grade where I received a phone call at home from one of the boys in my class. He told me that he had a crush on me. I remember not knowing what to say. I was elated. My 11 year old readings told me stories of the shy unpopular girls flowering and becoming a beautiful swan when one of the popular boys noticed her. I blushed my way through that entire phone call, then proceeded to call one of my few friends. She told me that I was being an idiot - that he only called me on a dare, and that nobody would like ME over some of the other girls in my class.
The summer after seventh grade, I tried to commit suicide. I took a scarf from my winter clothing and tied it around my neck with an inexperienced knot. I tied the other end to the top of my loft bed and tried to hang until I suffocated. Clearly, the knots of an eleven year old would not function for that purpose, and I did not succeed. I cried and dreaded going out of the house because I was convinced that the death threats from those girls were real. I finally convinced my parents to let me transfer schools before eighth grade.
I could really go on and on about all of the things I endured, but it’s not important. What’s important is that these kids who ruined my life have absolutely no idea the impact they had on me. I have suffered from major depression since I was ten years old. I’m sure everyone knows that my self-esteem is literally non-existent, and I’ve spent years torturing my body in twisted forms of eating disorders. I started self harming when I was twelve. Due to the various mental disorders that developed, suicide is constantly at the back of my mind.
The voices of those long ago children haunt me every day. My stomach still drops when I see one of them in public, now grown adults. It makes me absolutely sick that eight year olds can ruin another’s entire life.
The story of Amanda Todd isn’t unique or original. A tragic story of a bullied teen who committed suicide comes out every few months like clockwork. I feel lucky that I was able to escape the bullies before I hit puberty and perhaps was more educated in ways to kill yourself. If the bullying had continued into high school, I have no doubt that my story would have turned out a lot different. The feelings of absolute trappedness that I experienced every day when I was younger, still haunt me.
I have no difficulty understanding how these kids feel as if there is no way out. It’s even worse now that social media is such a huge part of our lives. At least when I was a child and being tormented, I had a brief respite every night when I could go home to my family. Kids these days have no such relief. Everyone has a cell phone. Everyone has a facebook. They get harrassed 24/7 and there’s no way out. It needs to stop.
Even if the kids can get away from the actual act of bullying, the bullies still win. They fucking win. Look at me and where my life is. I’m still struggling with an absolute self hate. I torture my body every day by abusing my diabetes. My patterns of relating to food are beyond fucked up. and despite every ounce of help I’ve received from antidepressants, counselling, my friends and family, nothing can break through to the deeply embedded voices in my head telling me I’m not good enough. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’m just going to have to live with this for the rest of my life… and maybe if that little girl I used to be didn’t have to listen to every person in her small world telling her she was worthless for four years, things could be very different.
RIP Amanda. I’m so sorry that you couldn’t escape. :(