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[tearsonatuesday]

Letting Go

Young love, that’s what it is. The kind of love that makes you feel like fireworks crawls up your spire. The love that makes you feel like you’re going mad. Losing your mind when they don’t respond. The kind of love that ignites a fire within you when they drop a flirty comment.

This is what I’m letting go of. My first crush, sounds pathetic. I’ve known this person for years, with no feelings. Oh what can change in 1 drive, a flirty comment, a certain look, truths spilling from our lips. I thought nothing of it for a moment, until your hand grazed my leg while changing gear. Innocence at its finest. But I felt myself want more, wanted you to hold my thigh.

I’m foolish, unexperienced. This person is my siblings best friend. The fights we have when I explained the situation. They were displeased and forbid it. This only made my emotions grow stronger, late night drives, chats, messaging. I feel safe but this crush, this immature love must be let go.

If it’s meant to be it’ll be. I need to live first, love later.

[tearsonatuesday]

What about you feels hard to love?

I do not know love; I’ve never experienced it. I have parents how showed no love, only expectations. In these conditions you only learn to hate. It festers in you heart and little by little boils your blood till hate is the only emotion you express. This means I am hard to like and impossible to love.

I hate most things about me, and this causes me to hate my parents as I was forced to display the gifts they bestowed at birth. I hate my body. The only thing that is constant in my life, my body cannot leave me, even when I wish it could. I wish I could peel it off and pick up a newer model, one that’s perfect, one that could be loved. I am fat, not massive but big enough to question if I’m taking up too much room on a chair, or if I look worse if I eat the cupcake I bought for lunch, or if eating a salad makes me look more insecure than I already am. My fat clings to my body and discusses me when I see it, I ask myself why I can’t lose weight or why it hangs in that certain place. I used to believe all the bullshit about how I am who I am, this is the body I’m meant to be in but the more I think about it the more I realise I simply do not want to change it. In this body in have an excuse for being unlovable, not that I think I have the motivation to get skinny. I’ve tried to starve myself but would cave because of judgement, people asking why I’m not eating and then I would spiral into old habits, being who I’ve always been an obese slob who hates the fact they will never be skinny or acceptably curvy. My sisters say I’m beautiful, but they have a certain expectation to say so, they cannot tell me the truth, that I’m repulsive and disgusting, and that they’d rather I leave so they can not look at my eye sore of a flesh suit. I know my weight will be forever unlovable.

My body is unsymmetrical, not enough for anyone to notice, but just enough for my eyes to slowly pick apart when I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror. I see how my fat rolls aren’t equal. How one creases lover then the other, how my underwear looks revolting when falling into these unequal divots. I try to convince myself its not ugly, but I know deep down that ill never accept it as a part of me. My teeth are uneven, lining up slightly to the left. This angers me as my teeth are straight, but this slight shift makes their positives redundant for it causes my face to look ill proportioned. My eyelids are unequal, one side is slightly fatter, from when I had a black eye from falling down the stairs as a child. Although this was an accident, I still hate the fact I caused this irregularity by myself. The worst part is my breasts, the symbol of my womanhood out in wider public is uneven, my right sits lower then my left which ruins all shirts as I can always see the issue through the fabric. This concept reminds me of my unlovability.

My body is hairy, the most disgusting thing for women on western media. I have hair, dark hair everywhere. My arms, my legs, my toes, my feet, my stomach, my sideburns. This ensemble helps to keep my image being revolting. I cannot shave quick enough, the hair comes back in 2 days, I wax, back in 5. Amongst all this hair removing I develop ingrown hairs, which I find just as revolting, red, and inflamed, displaying to the world my worst enemy. My legs have red enflamed spots which don’t disappear, and I pick making worse, but my hands still gravitate to them, trying to remove them from my body in vain. I ask myself why I have this issue. Why do my sisters not? Why must I remain to be disgusting, while they get to be beautiful and hairless? I find my body hair represents that of a man, completely contradicting my identity. Due to my hatred to this and my inability to love it, I know no one else will, for who will want to love someone so revolting.

I hate the acne that litters my face. A series of dots, spots and red patches texturizing my complexion. I wash my face and do skincare with no success. I remain to be disgusting and difficult to look at without mentally doing a dot to don’t across my insecurity. I used to believe that a clear face would make me loveable, a pro amongst the cons. But my efforts have failed. I hate my face and my body. I’m difficult to love because there is no attraction towards me what’s so ever, anyone on the planet would be prettier than me. This makes me unlovable.

When first reading this question, I thought of all these physical problems that make me unlovable but over time the realization is it’s not only physical, but that I’m also ugly in the inside, twisted and delusional.

I am destruction, manipulation, pain, and misery. I try to grow and change but I fear this is all I will be, a star that will explode and destroy everything and everyone in my path, obliterating any connection or bridge I have managed to build. I am alone now and alone always, I am not adorned with fruitful friendships or plastered with budding romance. I am alone, burning, running out of fuel, preparing for the disaster. Separating myself from all who love me, or better yet, loved me. For my prophecy repeats itself from now to eternity. I made bonds, friends, I find happiness, and all comes crashing in, reminding me once again I am like a gaseous ball of fire, doomed forever to be alone. I do not allow myself to be close to another, for the fear of my inevitable breakdown pushes me away, which is another reason I am hard to love.

I am a master manipulator, a liar. I am so terrified of rejection I lie so I can be liked. Although this portion of my personality always causes devastation. I go against my morals, against my feelings, pushing them into a dark corner so others will like me. This causes holes in my persona I display, there is only so many lies one can keep track of. As I continue to reject the real me, I lose the real me. I no longer know who I am. I am an amalgamation of lies, stories and truth, though I know its not the real me. There’s a feeling in my heart which reminds me I am not me and that I am lost. I don’t believe the real me will ever resurface. If I did anything correct in my life, I correctly stuffed the real me in an early grave and left it to decompose. Parts of the real me drift in, like the smell of it decomposing drift through the air, once again reminding me of how I’m not me. With this I know I cannot be loved as no one knows me, not the real me. I no longer know me.

I detest my moods, more precisely my mood swings. i believe I am better; I am happy and prospering but within minutes I will hate everything. I run ad hide like the worlds on fine as my mind believes my world is. Ill cry and isolate and refuse to talk to anyone. Ill hear my phone buzz and people call but I won’t reply, I remain stagnant in my bed. I remain in that state until my mind clears and allows movement. Then I begin the cycle again, I feel better, I believe I’m happy I prosper. Then it comes burning down like a forest fire, destroying all in its path. In this state, ill burn all bridges then build a wall to seal me in. I know when I this happens all I spread is misery, I attempt to share my problems and just bring others down with me. This is why I isolate myself, why ill never allow anyone close to me. This is another factor into why I’m hard to love.

When I read this question, I thought it was only about appearance, but I then dug deeper. Now I have written a response all hope is gone. I know I’m doomed to be alone forever. However, I’m used to it, so I’m not sad. It’s possible I am but I wrote this in the early hours of the morning, and the sun is coming up. The sun is a reminder for a Noah Kahan song, ‘don’t let this darkness fool you, all lights turned off can be turned on’. I will attempt to turn those lights on, so I am easier to love. I deserve love at the least.

[tearsonatuesday]

Well life's a shit storm, always. You end one chapter, close the book and place it on a shelf, then turn around and see the entire library engulfed in flames.

[tearsonatuesday]

Well after declaring I want freedom, I entered 2 weeks of absolute fuckery. Tied down by expectation, friendship, family and morals.

I watched as one friend tore down another. I watched myself fade into the folds, backed into a corned. I attempted to free myself, to ignore and move forward, but was enviable dragged backwards by the invisible threads that connect us to eachother.

Week 1: family, expectation, respect.

Here is where my trouble began. I as the youngest have little respect from my siblings, so I often keep to myself. But I wished to spend the weekend for my friends birthday out and about, enjoying my time. This is where I was wrong as my sibling began to drown me in expectation and cover me in dispointment. They were unhappy in every choice I made.

This wouldn't have bothered me until they attempted to lock me out the house, a house they do not own. So we fought, we yelled, we put plasters on bullet holes and moved forward.

Until the next day, when they demanded money from me. As I am in full time education, money isn't something I possess. Though, they did not seem to care. Thus we fought, we yelled, we put plasters on bullet holes and moved forward.

Finally, I was going back to my home. But in a rush I made a mistake. I took her glasses instead of mine, a simple mistake as they are extremely similar. Once again they lacked empathy or the want to a solution, demanding money one again for fuel. And once again, we fought, we yelled. But this time was different as they plasters I'd be apply no longer held back the blood, my fury. I was overcome by anger and frustration. As once again my desperation and hope for freedom and happiness was destroyed.

I yelled back, let the venom fall from my tongue and to finally send my message with passion, blocked them on everything. This is how to survive, this is how to live. to dance upon the pile of broken dreams and doomed relationships. I've regained my power and won't let it slip away again, I won't let the twisting vines choke me.

Week 2: friendship, silence, violence.

Where to start, at the beginning I guess. i spend the weekend with friends celebrating the annual ageing of another. But then proceeded to enter the week of pain and frustration. My friend chose to speak to us like we were nothing but rubbish to be stepped on.

Then when people began to withdraw they became irate, furious but unable to look further then their nose. Shouting, swearing crying. Panic ensued the rest of the group, choosing to ignore the fury spewing from a friend. I chose to help sooth the fire burning within another, rookie mistake.

As I did nothing to help the situation. The friend spiraled, choosing to declare violence, using others to watch for us in the streets and approached us with a plan of hand to hand combat. I calmed them down, refamed the situation and sent them home.

This is where I questioned my morals as I held two of my friends to cried in shock and fear, as they no longer felt safe in their own homes. Did I allow my want for freedom through calmness cloud my morals for sanctity? I'm still unsure.

I watched as the furious' mother banged in the door of the frightened. spewing words of hate, atteping to shift the story to make her child correct. Which did nothing except land this scenario on the polices doorstep as she declared no one was safe and that they planned to use violence to sort the situation.

I stood still, watched the world burn, cried to myself, asked myself why. Why did my want to freedom alway be destroyed by those closest to me?

What is freedom? is it being like the ocean? but it os controlled by the moon, told when to wave when to bring the tide in. Is it being like the moon? told where to orbit, held in place. Freedom is to be chased, that I know.

Once again, I remind you that we are all made from a collection of unique experiences, until death. These are words to live, love and learn by.

If you want to know more, I'll be here.

[tearsonatuesday]

Let's begin, it's a Saturday. I haven't left my room as I have no one to see. I'm alone but I don't feel lonely. Though aren't we all alone in the end, we're collections of experiences, emotions like no other. Unique.

I'm particularly excited at the moment as I have finally gotten my diabetes under control. I've had it for over 11 years and never truly cared for it, leaving my bloods high for days. I assume its due to my want for normality, believing that ignoring it ment it wasn't there. Stupid, I know. But we live, we learn. 3 days of perfect blood sugars, no one else is quite as happy as it doesn't seem that big of a achievement. But I am happy.

I've also been reading today, this is how you lose the time war. This I enjoyed, the constant chasing of a loved one, the passion, the enviable ending of it all. It reminds me of one of the recent vox machina episodes. 'all the living share one experience; death'. and what a truth that is.

Life is short, but complex. Tying us down, slowing us but not slowing the enviable. Like vines tangling around us to the ground, literally grounding us. But I wish to experience the growth, the flight, the freedom. I will experience the freedom.

What is freedom? I am still unsure, you wait to turn 18 for freedom and yet your still stuck, whether it's due to education or work. We're stuck. But I ask again why don't we pivot the perspective. To twist or distort this misery.

And thats my plan, to distort, twist, dance if you will. Dance on the very vines that entangle me. This is my display, my display of happiness, of growth, of my flight, my freedom.

Keep checking here to see that, to see the ups, the downs.