#lost my job got diagnosed with ocd and realized its the reason i got fired

[bivampirism]

thinking about becoming full of myself a little bit. i’ll keep u posted

[theperksofbeingawallflwer-blog]

IDK WHAT THIS IS BUT ITS SUPER CUTE AND GAY. SHOULD I WRITE MORE???

Hannah opens a window, her move from the stove to the window quick and effortless. As if she's done this a million times. As if she's almost burned down the house by trying to cook dinner a million times. She can't get the window open, so I drop the water I was spraying over the fire and rush over to her, using all my strength to lift the glass up. The smoke was almost suffocating and the breath of air that came from opening that window felt better than water on the hottest day of summer. Hannah, who can't cook, has this look of shame on her face. She's small and she's wrapping her arms around herself to feel smaller. She feels like she's failed. Well, she has, but it's not the end of the world. Her failures are small and do not define her. I've never told her this. I'm too scared to. She leans again the sink and I, the person who is shit at expressing emotion, walks over to her and bend down so that I can see her face. I moving from side to side, bending down so that my face is right in front of her face, I'm making silly faces and trying to get her to stop looking like she's about to cry. And she does. But once she does, a smile breaks out onto her face. She's laughing while tears are rolling down her cheeks. I bend down once more and place my lips on hers. She unfolds her arms and wipes her face with her hands. I tell her it's okay. I clean up her mess while she calls in our pizza order. Burnt rice and beans are scraped into the garbage, along with some burnt chicken. The smoke is still everywhere in the kitchen, so we leave the window open. It's cold and dark outside, but the window overlooks our back garden, which is lit up with Christmas lights Hannah bought specifically for that reason. It's January and freezing, but the cold air coming in feels amazing. "I'm sorry for burning dinner," Hannah says softly, her eyes red and her hair pulled back into a poof ball. Her dark skin is shiny with fresh tears as she grabs the towel in the sink and turns on the water, about to start washing dishes. She cleans when she's upset. "Don't apologize," I tell her, hopping up onto the counter next to the sink. "It's okay." "You always say that," she says. I know an eye roll came with that comment. So I roll my own eyes. "Because it's true," I tell her. "I can't cook," she says as she angrily starts scrubbing at a stain on one of the bowls in the sink. "So what?" I shrug. "I can't sing. Or dance. Or draw. You can't be good at everything, Han." "You don't hate me?" "Why would I hate you?" She doesn't answer. I don't say anything else on the topic. I watch her as she continues to clean every dish carefully. She hates using he dishwasher, so she washes every dish by hand. I let her do what she wants because she's more comfortable in her element. I don't argue with her. Hannah isn't crying anymore when she's finished. She closes the window (without my help this time), and walks into the living room. I stay in the kitchen, on the counter. I stare at the sponge she used to clean one of the pans she used tonight. There's a spot of blood on it. Scrubbing too hard. I turn it over onto the other side. I let out a sigh, my eyes moving down to my feet as they kick back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. I met Hannah when I was fourteen. We hated each other. She was the smart black girl who everyone loved and I was weird, tall, Asian-American girl who would dye her hair all the time. Hannah wanted to be my friend because she saw how lonely I was in class and at lunch. She said she didn't feel sorry for me (well maybe a little), she said she thought I was cool. She's always wanted to dye her hair, but mom would say no. She would invite me to her house to hang out and I would invite her to my house to hang out and to my soccer games. We were an odd pair. People would ask why she would ever be friends with me. She would flip them off. Some people had the nerve to ask me to get answers from Hannah for tests and give the answers to them. I'd flip them off. Freshman year was odd. We spent less time together. She found some new friends. She joined some after school clubs. She rarely came to my track meets or soccer games. I understood, though. She was really busy. She had school activities she had to worry about for college and she had to study for classes and she had family stuff too. It was okay because she would text me and ask how things were and she would constantly apologize about not being able to see me as much. But the times we did to get to see each other, we had a blast. We'd sit in my garage and stare at my mom's old disco ball as we sat it on the ground in front of us. We'd watch it spin on and on forever, we'd sometimes dance with no music. There was always ice cream in her freezer. We lived for it. We'd sometimes nap together or she would accidentally fall asleep and I'd watch her. I told myself it wasn't weird because my mom said she would watch me sleep sometimes. She said it was because she loved me and she loved watching me sleep. I loved Hannah and I loved to watch her sleep. She looked peaceful. Sophomore year, things got even more odd. Hannah fell into a group of really smart people and jocks. I fell into theatre somehow. I stopped sports and started drama club. It was so weird. My parents were the most confused, but they went along with it because it was something I wanted to do. I loved drama. Choosing it was the best decision I made. I rarely saw Hannah and when I did, it was while we were walking past each other in the hallways. She slowly stopped texting me and we eventually stopped hanging out. I made some more friends. And I even made one that I called my best friend until junior year. Blythe. We were practically glued together. She had the nicest, softest, ginger hair. She loved almost everything I loved and we would go to the movies on the weekends and get milkshakes sometimes and study our lines for plays at each other's houses. She was also my first kiss. The first one I came out to. The kiss was something we both agreed to never talk about again. It was accidental. We were both kind of tipsy from drinking her parent's alcohol and we didn't know better. Accept, I did. I wasn't that drunk at all. I loved the kiss. She didn't. I realized then, I liked girls. I really really liked girls. And I really really liked Blythe. She didn't like me that way, though. But I came out to her a few months after the kiss. She was fine with it. She was happy about it, actually. I was in love with Blythe. Junior year, Blythe got a boyfriend. We drifted apart because of a boy. And she kind of cut me off for no reason. Or maybe she had a reason, but she never told me. Junior year was also when I quit drama and focused more on school work and my job at the library. I got a girlfriend that year, too. Mars. She had long, dark hair with piercing blue eyes and a smile anyone could see from above earth. I fell for her fast. I lost my virginity to her. We were close for the first three months. She made me happy. I don't know if I made her happy. She started complaining about me. She said I was too indecisive and not focused on her enough. She complained about my music, saying it was too heavy. She laughed about my weight sometimes, saying I was too skinny. But she will made me happy. When she smiled, it would make my day. When we kiss, it would make my entire week. But I didn't like it when she made me have sex with her and got mad when I didn't want to. I didn't like it when she would leave me at parties to hang out somewhere else with her friends. I didn't like the fact that when she left me, sobbing alone in my room, she took a huge chunk of me with her. I lost myself in Mars. Senior year was when Hannah started talking to me again. Life was moving too fast because it was the last year of high school and I had to figure out what I was going to do with my life. Hannah knew. She got accepted into so many good colleges and got so many amazing scholarships. She told me to not worry because I was the smartest girl she knew and knew that without a doubt, I'd something amazing with my life. I got a new job at a diner and on breaks, Hannah would come and see me and we'd talk over burgers and shakes. We caught up with each other. Hannah had a lot of shit going on at home. Her parents got divorced. She was diagnosed with depression, anxiety and OCD. She told me she attempted suicide twice and that she almost failed junior year. She told me how hard it was without me and how she wanted to reach out to me, but she couldn't. I told her I was sorry and I was so fucking close to breaking down because of what she told me. I wasn't there for her when she needed me. But I didn't. I don't cry in front of people. I told her about me liking girls and quitting sports and joining drama club and quitting that and my first girlfriend and Blythe and my grandma moving in with us. We had started hanging out more too. Whenever we got the chance. And I was invited to her birthday party. The party where we had our first kiss. The kiss that hanged everything. It was a dare but we knew it was more than that. If felt like more than that. So the days to follow, we talked about it and we decided that we liked it. We liked kissing each other. She liked holding my hand. We didn't have a label and we didn't need one. She had started figuring out her sexuality by the time we got around to prom and graduation. But she asked me to prom anyways. And our parents knew and flipped out, but in a great way. They were thrilled about us. But we weren't official until after graduation. When summer started and we were somewhere in town, drinking soda and eating cookies, I asked her to be my girlfriend. When I met Hannah, I was lost. But being with her made me feel like I wasn't. I've known her for so long and I know her better than I know myself. She knows me better than she knows anyone else. I love her more than anything and she's the most important part of my life. Seeing her upset isn't fun. I've never been the best at expressing my feelings, but I try. When she's sad and I'm her moods, I hold her and try to make her laugh. When she's hurt herself, I don't know what to do. I sit and let everything sink in for me because it scares me. But I hold her and help her take care of her wounds. I make sure she takes her medicine. I make sure she's okay. She does the same for me. Hannah isn't just my best friend and girlfriend. She's my everything. I wish I knew how to tell her that. I let my gaze travel back to the sponge and I pick it up, turning back over to the side with the spot of blood. I grab it and jump off the counter, throwing the sponge away. I walk into the living room where she's sat on the couch, watching something on TV. I sit down next to her. I grab her hand and kiss it, slowly turning it over to see where she's hurt herself. It's not bad. But I kiss it a million times. "It's okay if you fucked up dinner," I tell her. "We all fuck up." She looks over at me and kisses my lips. When the pizza gets here, I pay. And we eat in silence, watching some reality TV show. When we're done, I put the left over pizza in the fridge and we sit together on the couch a little bit longer. "I'm tired," she says quietly. "We should get drunk." I laugh at her, but I know full well that she's serious. But she says things like this all the time. "You need to sleep," I tell her, pulling her closer to me. "Let's get drunk and dance to shitty music," she says again. "I don't wanna go to sleep." "You'll feel better if you go to sleep." She doesn't answer. When I look over at her ten minutes later, she's asleep. I carry her to bed like my dad used to when I would fall asleep on the couch. I kiss her forehead and I lie down down next to her, I don't fall asleep, though.