no inicio de 2015 eu fiz uma wishlist e um dos pontos dessa listaera escrever mais. no entanto passaram 30 dias e eu não escrevi uma unica palavra.

preciso de por as ideias em ordem...

eu e o R estamos mal. bastante mal. 3 meses de namoro que se resumem a discussões, sacrificios e "loucura" um pelo outro. hoje conversei com uma pessoa sobre um dos problemas que mais nos fazem discutir e cheguei a conclusao de que ha coisas que e melhor esquecer e evitar. nao sei que dizer, fodasse. a minha cabeça está um caos, penso em tanta coisa mas nao sei expressar o que penso e o que sinto. isto e tudo uma merda. talvez chorar resolvesse alguma coisa mas estou seca. completamente seca. nao sei que fazer. nao sei qual e a melhor decisao a tomar, mas qualquer que seja vai ser dolorosa. estar com ele e doloroso mas estar sem ele e mais e comeco a achar que estou destinada a sofrer para sempre. odeio-me,odeio-me

If you are going to fall in love with me, it’s only fair that you know what you are falling in love with. You are falling in love with my insecurities, and my obsession with trying to figure out what everyone thinks of me. You are falling in love with my immaturity, my constant need to feel loved and appreciated, my overactive tear ducts, my internet obsession. You fall in love with my troubled past, and my hopes and dreams, and how I’m a hopeless romantic at heart. If you fall in love with me, you fall in love with my self-hate and all my imperfections and my perception that nobody could ever love me. But, you are also falling in love with the way my eyes smile when I’m with you, the way I’ll text you in the mornings just telling you I hope you have a great day. You’re falling in love with the occasionally humorous and/or thought provoking things I say, and the way I blush when people ask me about you. But to me, the most important thing will be that you are falling in love with me, despite me thinking that it is impossible.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back she was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

I’ve had so many knives stuck into me, when they hand me a flower I can’t quite make out what it is. It takes time

I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with. Tell me why you loved them, then tell me why they loved you. Tell me about a day in your life you didn’t think you’d live through. Tell me what the word “home” means to you and tell me in a way that I’ll know your mothers name just by the way you describe your bed room when you were 8. See, I wanna know the first time you felt the weight of hate and if that day still trembles beneath your bones. Do you kiss your friends on the cheek? Do you think that anger is a sincere emotion or just the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain? See, I wanna know what you think of your first name. And if you often lie awake at night and imagine your mothers joy when she spoke it for the very first time. I want you tell me all the ways you’ve been unkind. Tell me all the ways you’ve been cruel.Do you believe that Mary was really a virgin? Do you believe that Moses really parted the sea? And if you don’t believe in miracles, tell me, how would you explain the miracle of my life to me? And for all the times you’ve knelt before the temple of yourself, have the prayers you’ve asked come true? And if they didn’t did you feel denied? And if you felt denied, denied by who[m]? I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirror on a day you’re feeling good. I wanna know what you see in the mirror on a day a day you’re feeling bad. I wanna know the first person who ever taught you your beauty could ever be reflected on a lousy piece of glass. If you ever reach enlightenment, will you remember how to laugh? Have you ever been a song? See, I wanna know more than what you do for a living. I wanna know how much of your life you spend just giving. And if you love yourself enough to also receive sometimes. I wanna know if you bleed sometimes through other people’s wounds. And if you dream sometimes that this life is just a balloon that if you wanted to you could pop—but you never would because you’d never want it to stop.

I am not an easy person to love. Some days I will whisper how beautiful you are while planting gentle kisses all over your body. You will giggle and try to fight me off and in that moment my heart will have never felt so light. But other days when my mind is a storm cloud threatening to explode, I will be a bundle of emotions that I cannot quite keep contained. I will be cold, distant, and you will look at me like I am not the same person you fell in love with.

I am a broken light switch. My moods flicker without anyone flipping me on and off. I wake up each morning and wonder which me you will encounter that day. I always hope it is the one who makes you want to stick around.

I am not easy to love. But what I need you to understand is that whether there is a war waging inside of my mind or I am the kind person that you adore, I will always love you.

I will love you in the morning. I will love you when you cry. I will love you when I am angry. I will love you when you’re being stubborn. I will love you when I don’t even love myself. I will love you.

I know that there will be days when you want to give up on me but I am asking you, please don’t. You see, you are the only one who has been able to settle the storm inside of me before I even realize it is surfacing.

I am not easy to love but I promise that I will always put up a fight. And I will love you no matter which me my light switch flips on that day.

are u sad? feeling down? look at your hands. think about all the dogs they’ve petted. feel happy. so much happy.

fuck. I guess it will never desappear...

we kissed today...

do you remember the first time you were called annoying?

how your breath stopped short in your chest

the way the light drained from your eyes, though you knew your cheeks were ablaze

the way your throat tightened as you tried to form an argument that got lost on your tongue.

your eyes never left the floor that day.

you were 13.

you’re 20 now, and i still see the light fade from your eyes when you talk about your interests for “too long,”

apologies littering every other sentence,

words trailing off a cliff you haven’t jumped from in 7 years.

i could listen to you forever, though i know speaking for more than 3 uninterrupted minutes makes you anxious.

all i want you to know is that you deserve to be heard

for 3 minutes

for 10 minutes

for 2 hours

forever.

there will be people who cannot handle your grace, your beauty, your wisdom, your heart;

mostly because they can’t handle their own.

but you will never be

and have never been

“too much.”

what if your plants want to kill themselves but you keep on watering them?

When I say I hate myself I am not fishing for compliments. I mean

I literally hate myself and nothing you can say or do can change that!

I am worthless, pathetic and useless. I hate my feet, my fat legs,my

scarred thighs, my love handles, my chubby stomach, my flabby arms,

my manly shoulders, my long neck, my hair, my ears,

my eyes,my big nose, my lips, my face fuck I just hate my skin! I

hate living in this skin. I hate myself all the way through

to my blood and bones. I am not worthy!