the 1st heartbreak of 2018

Writing this, I literally want to throw up. And I’d really like to. Throw up the food I overeat, my thoughts I overthink, and the feelings I overanalyze. Sometimes I feel too much. I feel like Atlas; the weight of the world is on my shoulders. I feel like I am deteriorating. It’s been eleven years since I’ve struggled with depression. The ups and downs. The highs and lows. The mountain peaks and valley ditches. I am very dizzy in this still world.

There was an earthquake as the earth stood still. But it was a long time coming. I am in bed, strung out on the concoctions of pills I overdosed and the magical antidotes to reverse that. I feel like writing. I do that when I’m sad. Except I don’t have the capability to jot down the occurrences of my life as my life happens to be a telenovela – a sick reality TV show some creatures from another planet are gawking at.

Since you are, presumptuously, not a strange, sadistic being from another universe, I’ll have to go back to the beginning. That’s the hardest part for me, reliving the destruction. I don’t have the best memory; there are puzzle pieces floating aimlessly in my brain that never magnetize. I’ll do my best. I happen to primarily be writing this for myself. Maybe I’ll be reading this when I’m 32 years old on the couch with my husband and dog after spending hours trying to figure out my password to this archaic Google Docs app. Or Maybe I’ll be single at 32 reading this. Maybe I’ll die before reading this again. But that’s okay. It’s still important to write. Although, I feel dramatic and delusional experiencing heartbreak when nothing really happened.

It is 10:15 PM on Saturday, January 13th 2018. Time traveling to September (15th or 16th?) 2016, I went to a social for a club I was new to, Mean Greens for Animals. It was at a place called The Bowllery. As I was finding a place to sit with my friend Melanie, I locked eyes on this beautiful boy with piercing blue eyes that reminded me of a photograph of Antarctica I saw in National Geographic magazine that I tore out and posted on my wall. We sat by him and people were trying to get acquainted with me, but I just wanted to listen to him talk. He never spoke much and of nothing of great importance as he was very reserved. Mysterious perhaps. Unlike me, as transparent as a ghost. Yet all I wanted to do was hear his soft voice, a voice on the furthest spectrum away from my harsh tones that cut like a knife. I feel like he could probably say the most revoltingly insulting thing ever spoken and it would sound charming. (re: “The Sixth Senses” poem).

That was the day I started my interest in him, but unfortunately, as I found out, he had a girlfriend back in his home state. I immediately dropped all romantic care for him. Then come January, I found out from a new friend I met that he is now single. She followed this up by saying she likes him, and I encouraged her to go for it. I had other boys on my plate. Through her, I met her friend, Tyler, who happened to be roommates and friends with Joey. (It’s too long of a story to not mention names and I can’t use an alias, as I feel like it fabricates something so real to me.) When I was over at the guy’s house, Joey came out shyly every once in a while, but I didn’t have a thought about him. He was just a boy, and at that time, I had already been on my third guy that year. Second heartbreak over boys who can’t commit to me (but of course, can commit to fucking me).

It didn’t work out with Tyler. I tried to force feelings for him because he was a nice guy. Besides, he had trust issues because one girl in his life hurt him. (Insensitively, I have very little pity since boys hurt girls everyday carelessly without a second thought and we get over it. But I digress.) It wasn’t until September 2017 when I went to grab lunch at Mean Greens cafeteria that I ran into my new friend, Alex, Tyler, and then Joey. We all sat together. Seeing Joey again after months was like seeing him for the first time but better.

Still, I almost lost my virginity on an uncomfortable rock in the forest at 2 AM in May 2017 to a boy I knew in 8th grade, Jordan. We had talked everyday for a month over text and he was so kind. As I write this now, I realize he was the first person I lost myself over. I didn’t even want to have sex. I am not even a sexual being. I just wanted to because saving yourself for marriage like i’ve been told my whole life by hypocritical Pentecostal who only found love after being destroyed by drugs and toxic boys. I wanted to screw the notion that women are emotional with sex. I wanted to destroy the concept that women can’t just have sex without a commitment. I hated boys. I hated what they put me through. I was dating boys continuously without break for more than a year and I was boy burnt-out. I always thought having sex with boys gives them power of you. And maybe that’s true now that I’m the position I am in. But I wanted to rebel against that. Fortunately, we didn’t end up going through with it because he was … too big and I had an unusually small vagina. TMI! I think I would’ve stopped him anyways.

My point is, because I was burnt-out, I had absolutely no focus on boys. There was a boy Michael, who I had spoken to since Christmas Eve of 2016. It was in the fall when I realized I had to date a vegan or at least vegetarian who would turn vegan. He was neither. And I felt like I knew him forever and could talk to him about anything, but after the first time we hung out, he ghosted. I didn’t care though. I was apathetic about him since the beginning, but there was a piece of me forcing things again.

I was at a lame adult party when I was forced into a conversation where this lady explained how she was never first interested in her husband. In fact, she couldn’t stand him. She even thought he was ugly. Despite that, he eventually coerced her to go on a date and they ended up getting married and staying happily married for years and years. I thought maybe that’s how it is. Maybe the love at first sight or sparks flying is something that isn’t instantaneous. Now, I realize, that’s bullshit.

Joey was in the back of my mind vaguely, hiding deep down in the crevices of my consciousness. It wasn’t until I rode with him and our vegan friends to a march for animals and then vegan fair that I realized I liked him – or maybe just suddenly liked him. Either way, because I can’t keep a secret about me or a thought to myself even with a gun to my head, I told my friends who encouraged it. Being with him, talking to him and rescuing kittens with him that we found on the road, I felt my energy being pulled to him and since then, everything became about him. What I wore. When I went to eat. How I did my hair. How I did my makeup. How I dressed. I revolved and shifted my life just for him. (re: “pain level undecided).

Sidebar: The small problem was that the new girl to the club liked Joey wholeheartedly. I mean, this girl was infatuated, saying she wanted to have his babies. I thought that was ridiculous, but I like to be an honest person, so I told her I liked him too. She took it as I used to like him. She, Tori, was always passive-aggressive towards me ever since then. I think that was unfair because I didn’t owe her how I felt since we weren’t even friends. I was trying to eliminate any competition or drama. Even after talking to her one-on-one to work things, she continued being passive-aggressive to me. She admitted she was jealous, and that’s a reasonable feeling, but she didn’t have to be rude to me. She texted Joey that she had feelings for him and he replied that he didn’t, by the way, so she’s basically irrelevant because I’m horrible at leaving unimportant details out.)

Although, when Tori texted Joey this, I was with our mutual friend, Carla, who told me this was happening. I felt guilty that Carla was telling me this about Tori’s profession of her love for Joey when I liked him, so I told her. She seemed so excited just like my other friends and encouraged it. Then on, I confided in her about Joey, knowing Joey and her were best friends. But I trusted her wholeheartedly. You’ll see why that was a mistake later.

Anyways, I told my friends I liked Joey and they told me I needed to make a move, but I really didn’t want to get hurt. I was taking a boy break and enjoying life without the foreign thoughts of boys, as I was never boy crazy before college. Unfortunately, Joey was the most magnificent person I knew, so I had to try. I texted him asking if he wanted to get lunch sometime, and he said when he’s available each day of the week. From then, I woke up early in the morning just to see him at lunch time, even though those were the days I could sleep in. We never ate lunch alone since friends always came to join, which was relieving because he doesn’t speak much and that makes me over-speak, creating a facade that I’m vain. Even my friends said I talk a lot too.

I decided lunch was not an efficient way of getting to know him, so I invited him to hang out sometime. He said he was available a week from then, which seemed like a year, but I took what I could (even though I’m busier than him). When the time came, I was exhausted from my midnight to 8am shift, but I stayed up cleaning and getting ready for him to come hours later. He came over, hair wet with his retro glasses and thrifted sweater, along with the same pants and shoes he always wears. I thought he looked so nice.

We talked about an hour about veganism, family, and where we want to travel while drinking smoothies. Then we cooked stir-fry, which came out horribly in my opinion, but he loved it. We watched Dexter while eating and then he had to go. Before he got up, he invited me to a concert in Dallas, which I took as a very good sign. I refuted the offer because I had made plans with my friend, Steph. After he left, I’m pretty sure I danced. I was so hopeful and excited but wary and terrified at the same time.

Two weeks later, we hung out again, eating cinnamon rolls we made and playing Mario Party. Nothing happened, but I do recall, oddly enough, him mentioning through a conversation that he used to tear the heads off of his stuffed animals as a kid.

My feelings for him grew stronger than I could control. He invited me to his house show where his band, Goalie, would be performing publicly for the first time. I went with Mel and Steph and saw my other friends there, including Tori who I despised at the time. As the bands were transitioning, I stood by their bookcase in the living room, flipping through a Pablo Neruda book when Joey came up to me to strike a conversation. I can never comprehend what he’s saying because I’m too infatuated by his mannerisms and quirks.  Later, when my friends wanted to go, I asked Joey if he’d take me home later if he wanted me to stay longer, to which he agreed. I was sitting alone in a giant, eccentric shoe-shaped chair when he squeezed in to sit by me.

I thought this was the moment to tell him how I feel. If I don’t, I’m going to spend the whole winter break daydreaming about someone who may not even feel the same way instead of spending the break getting over someone. I had no idea how to dive into this conversation gracefully. I asked him what he’s going to do after this, to which he replied that he’s going to sleep. Then he asked me what I was planning and I said, “Well, I only stayed because I thought we could hang out after, but I guess you’re going to be too tired to do that?” He agreed because he had work at 8am as did I.

I offered to have him stay the night at my apartment and leave when I have to get up, subtly suggesting more than sleeping, and he replied that he would love to, but he needs time to prepare.

I said, “Okay, well you can just say no, that you don’t want to.”

“No, I do.”

“I just feel like you make excuses.”

He thought for a minute the way he thinks as if he is a modern day replica of The Thinker. “I don’t feel like I do that.”

“I’m not trying to be aggressive about it. I just feel that way. I just feel like you’re apathetic towards me and ambiguous. I don’t know how you feel about me.”

He says nothing and the silence feels like a beeping fire alarm.

“I can’t even speak because you make me nervous & intimidate me. I’m not usually like this. I’m just, I think it’s apparent that I like you and I don’t know how you feel about me.”

“I really like you.”

“Not as a friend, I mean.”

“Okay, well I like you as a friend, but I’m not looking for a committed relationship.”

“Well, what are you looking for?”

“Nothing I guess.”

“Because instead of just saying you like me as a friend, you’re saying you don’t want anything committed. So you’re saying you like me sexually?”

“Yes, but as a person too.”

“But not romantically.”

“No.”

“Do you feel romantically about people? I feel like you don’t.” I truly thought he was maybe aromantic after he told me was only interested in my sexually because before that, I thought he may be asexual since he never wanted to engage in sexual conversations and seemed jolted by such topics.

“I do, I was in a long-term relationship, but I can’t say I felt romantically about her either.”

This shook me to my core. He was with his girlfriend for years. I was so confused, so I probed more, but people swarmed into the living room, so we went to his room to talk. I kept apologizing for being so weird that this is a serious conversation when it shouldn’t be. I told him I thought I’d be okay if he said no, but when he did, I realized how much it fucking sucked. He said he can’t have sex with people who don’t feel the same because that’s unethical and I said I want to be sexual with him, but I don’t know how to when they don’t even like me romantically. And he asked me why I feel so hurt, in a non-condescending or annoyed way.

I said, “I guess it’s just the bigger picture that no one wants me. Sexually, sure. But no one likes me enough to think of me as more than that. No one wants to be in a relationship with me. It’s just a cyclical letdown.”

“I wish you didn’t feel like that because it’s not like a personal thing against you.”

“No, but it is because you didn’t say ‘I can’t commit right now’ or ‘I just got out of a long relationship’ and other bullshit, cowardly excuses guys recycle – you are not romantically interested in me. Thus, there’s something about me that I’m missing that you need from me to see me like that. Don’t make excuses to make me feel better, please. You’re not a shitty guy for thinking that. It’s just how it is.”

It was a 20 minute conversation with a cacaphony of loud silences when he was thinking of what to say. His blue, electric eyes were so sympathetic and excruciatingly pitiful as if he’s taking care of a dog that just got hit by a car. I just felt like the dumbest, most pathetic girl ever. I just wanted to be alone and go home, and he was my only ride. We drove to my apartment and I thought it would feel like forever because of the awkwardness, but I talked so much about things I can’t even recall that it felt like a minute. All I remember saying is, “Well, when I get over this, we can have sex.” And he said wearily, “Okay.” I felt completely mental. Why would I say that? Or think that? I figured it was because I was three days without my antidepressant, the day it usually hits that I’m missing chemicals that my brain has consistently, biologically been dependent on for eleven years. I felt a little off but not completely. Yet.

When he dropped me off, I ran inside the stairwell and bursted out crying, which felt great since I rarely cry. My antidepressant numb real feelings for me. I run upstairs, lock myself in room, take a shitload of pills, then bawl in the shower. The next day, December 10th, I woke up at 10 PM, having knowingly slept through work and not caring at all. I woke up, ran a hot bath, texted Joey verbatim, “I’m over it. Come over.” Then I took a big swig of vodka when he immediately texted that he is on his way. The fastest he’s ever texted me back. Shock.

I decided to just have sex. To get it out of the way. Because I had been waiting to have sex with someone that feels the same way I do about them. I felt like there was only one guy in my life who felt the same way I did about them. Cullen. In retrospect, I believe I was wrong and I was too happy to have met him to see that that wasn’t really true, since he dumped me for being vegan. Apparently, the real reason was that I was too controlling. Not a new line I’ve heard. But it’s really that I wouldn’t give him sex. I had no desire to have sex with him or really anyone. Not a strong one at least to actually do it. I had moral issues with having sex. There had been so many guys in my life (an understatement) that only wanted me sexually. I was very exhausted from being seen that way. I wanted power of that. Over them. I didn’t wanna wait for something or someone that doesn’t exist. I see my mom who’s 57 years old and just now found the love of her life. (We’ll see anyways. They just got married after knowing each other for a few months. I don’t exactly have much enthusiasm or hope for relationships after seeing my mom go through heartbreak and heartbreak and having to heal her afterwards. A big part of my abandonment issues I recently discovered I have.)

Sidebar: I don’t think it’s at all fair to preach to girls to wait when guys aren’t doing the same. And what’s so special about it anyway? What the fuck is the big deal? The whole God thing is really weird. Like why does he care so much that women must be with men and vice versa? Bullshit.
Back to the story, he comes over and I’m tipsy and had taken a Xanax because I was so nervous. I went through with it, not telling him I hadn’t done it before because that’s none of his business. But I had sex with him being resentful and angry. Being apathetic and careless. I didn’t want to talk to him for a polite small conversation transition. I just asked him, “Are you gonna kiss me or not?” And it all started from there. I barely remember it. Just the pain, which wasn’t as bad as I thought. I mean, putting a tampon in for the first times hurt worse. But at the same time, it was comforting and I felt protected somehow. He slept over and I felt happy. Libertated.

That quickly faded when I told my friends, who seemed disappointed and disapproving. Not that they know anything about Joey or Joey and I. I was pissed because sex is a very difficult thing for growing up in a slut-shame culture and religious rituals that made girls wear skirts below their knees and no showing of the shoulders. At the same time, I get where they were coming from because I would’ve thought and said the same. I think it’s part of a friendship to have and voice opinions, even advice, but when I say stop, you should stop. It didn’t stop and they made me feel shitty. Almost on the verge of regretting my decision. That was the thing I was most terrified in life – regretting losing my virginity. Even if it is a social concept. I guess I didn’t feel bad because everyone does it, even the religious ones. And I didn’t feel religious anymore, not even slightly.  I just didn’t really care anyways.

In that one week, we had sex eight times. My vagina felt like a desert. It wasn’t necessarily good; I didn’t feel anything great, but I just used him to kind of, break me in for someone who does love me back. I was going to stop if it didn’t get better, not that I had high expectations since most women don’t orgasm with a partner until their late 20s, which says a lot about guys or god’s cruelty to women. I thought I could handle it and compartmentalize because that’s what I used to be good at, which now I realize – in this moment – I am clearly not anymore. Saturday the 16th, we had sex the last time before the break. It was close to amazing, (after I told him I wasn’t feeling pleased) so I wanted to continue. That Saturday we went hiking and we got knee-high stuck in mud for half an hour, which was hilarious and horrifying simultaneously. Looking over at him covered him mud, us both laughing hysterically, made me fall in love with him. (re: “quicksand.”)

During winter break, we talked virtually every day, but I no longer felt the lightning bolt that would pierce through me when he texted. I took that as a sign of getting over him. And I thought I did. But I think maybe because he was giving me attention, you know? I couldn’t physically witness him not wanting me. There was a seed planted in my head that maybe he will develop feelings for me, as guys usually take longer. I thought, “Well, if he wants me, it’s probably because of the sex. I don’t want to have a relationship built on the rocky foundation of sexual attraction.” I didn’t have to worry about that because he didn’t like me in the end.

Winter break for the first time in my life, I wasn’t depressed a single day. I took my medicine every day once I got them refilled after running out and I felt neurotypical almost. That all went to shit when I returned to Denton a week early to start work. I was invited by Joey to his house show Sunday night, the 7th, so I went with my friend Karina. At this time, I was really nervous because I was having symptoms of pregnancy. And I thought it would be just my luck to get pregnant after only having sex a few times. I was angry at Joey because I was internally and secretly dealing with this possible catastrophe and he was distancing himself from me. When Karina and I got there, he wasn’t even there. He was off with Carla.

Just as we were planning to leave, they arrived and apologized for not answering my texts. Joey seemed worried that I was mad, so he showed me his texts he sent me saying he was stepping out that didn’t go through. I thought I made it obvious I was upset with him, but apparently later, he said he had no idea. Karina and I were talking in the corner alone when Joey stumbled to us and asked if he could join the conversation. I couldn’t even look at him, not because I was angry (I knew it was irrational to be) but because I felt embarrassed or shameful if I was pregnant. We left and he texted me a day later asking when is a good day to hang out. I was still mad at him, but I just wanted sex. I honestly don’t know if I even wanted it or just wanted to feel like a girl who could just have sex.

Joey came over Wednesday night after I got off of work and we spent time with my dog, Gigi, who I brought up with me for comfort. Then because I took a shot of vodka when he didn’t see and a Xanax, I talked too much, got too emotional, and told him about the pregnancy scare, which he was so kind about and worried about me for. Not because I might be pregnant – I got my period that day – but because I was freaking out. He’s just good like, sympathizing with people so well that it feels like he’s in your head. So we were foreplaying, but I wasn’t at all turned on, so I suggested we go outside on the balcony to have sex, which totally didn’t work out smoothly. We came back in to drink to lighten things up since nothing was going smoothly or sexy. Then we got to having sex and I asked him what his kinks are, to which he replied he had none. I said, “Carla and I talked about sex once and it’s so ironic because we’re both feminist but both like anti-feminist things in bed.” Because I was drunk, I said something stupid. Something that my brain accessed even though I had dismissed it. The day before, my friend, Linda, asked if Carla and Joey liked each other, and I said confidently, “No, they’re just friends.” Somehow it came out and I said, “Wait, do you like Carla?” And he froze. He didn’t talk. I climbed off of him and said slowly, “Oh. You like Carla. You actually like her.” I laughed so hard my stomach hurt and I locked myself in the bathroom to take more Xanax. Then came out still laughing because I couldn’t even get myself to cry. I said, “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you’re in love with CARLA while you are FUCKING me. She has a boyfriend! Of 5 years! And she’s not even the one giving you sex! What do I have to do for you to even be romantically interested in me slightly? Have a boyfriend? Not reciprocate feelings? It seems like that’s what guys like.”

“I didn’t say I loved her! I didn’t say anything!” He had his head in his hands, distressed. And I liked it. I wanted him to hurt. I even told him that.

I yelled, “That’s the fucking problem! You didn’t say anything. So you don’t need to. You love her…I don’t know how I can keep this to myself. I obviously won’t tell Carla though -”

He interrupted. “Why not?!” He said it as if he wanted everyone to know because he wanted to be punished.

“Why not?! Because that’s not my place to say.”

“Why? She already knows.”

Him revealing his love for Carla was a slow realization, like an upside down picture turning right side up. But the fact that she knew – THAT is the meteorite that struck me. I immediately bawled. I hadn’t bawled in forever.
Not only did this seem like a “heartfelt but funny” coming-of-age story, it felt like betrayal. I confided in Carla for everything about Joey. Although she’s friends with both of us, she chose to not tell me when she knew how much I cared about him. She valued him over my very intense feelings.

Then I stopped crying in the arms that hurt me and said, “It is illogical for me to feel this way. We’re not together. You owe me nothing. Nothing you say can make me feel better because you know nothing! You don’t know why you don’t like me romantically. Even though the things you like me for as a friend are transitional to romantic liking. You never know anything, so let’s just have sex and forget about it. Please.” I was so desperate for sex, either because of the vodka or heartache. He refused, saying “We should just sober up and talk about this.”

I got angry. “There’s nothing to talk about. Nothing that can make me feel better. Because you just revealed you are in love with my friend while your dick was out. And you have cum twice already. You always get pleasure. I’m bleeding on my sheets for nothing if I don’t cum. Stop thinking you know what’s best for me. Men couldn’t possibly know.”

So he went to put on a condom and I tweeted, “This is the worst moment in my entire life” at 12:59AM. Then we had sex. And it was the best sex I’ve ever had. I asked him if he wanted to record it, so we did. And I almost came, but I told him I did because it was close enough or some dumb shit. We both took an Ambien, me more Xanaxs and Benadryls, and slept peacefully through the night. The next morning, we made breakfast, watched Grey’s Anatomy, and then I was giving him a blowjob when I remembered. I stopped and stared blankly away, trying to process my emotions, and he asked what was wrong. I just wanted to forget it, so I kept on, but I couldn’t compartmentalize. I stopped and told him after a while of not speaking, “I just remembered.”

I said, “I don’t know if we can be friends. I don’t even want to see you again. Tell Carla when you see her not to ever contact me again.” And I kicked him out. While he was putting his clothes on, he asked me, “I understand if you don’t, but do you at least think I’m a good person?” I know that’s his thing. His worst fear is being a bad person. It’s something he self-harms himself over, as I found out that night before. But I said, “I used to.” He nodded and left.

I ran to the shower to cry and rinse off his touch. Then I deliberately overdosed on Ambien, Benadryl, Xanax, and Clonazepam. A few hours later I woke up to take another round because my skin felt like it was on fire and I was craving just dying to not feel that agonzing pain. I slept until 5 PM the next day when I heard Mel walking in the door, back from San Antonio. I didn’t want her to see me and think anything of me, but I could barely get up. My dog was crying at me to feed her or take her out. I tried to find something to eat for energy since I hadn’t had but two meals in two weeks. Mel left shortly after to hang out with a mutual friend, and I saw Joey’s text that he wanted to apologize in person if I’d be willing to see him. (I also told him after I kicked him out to delete everything I’ve ever sent him and the video we made, but to send the video so I’d have proof. I didn’t trust anyone after that happened.) I didn’t really want to see him and I knew he couldn’t say anything helpful, but I needed physical help because I needed help.

He came over at 8 PM and we sat on my bed. He apologized profusely to which I replied, “Is that it?” because he said the same things he did before. He said, “Well, it’s not if you say something back.”

“I don’t know what to say back. I’m so depressed that I’m apathetic.” And then I went on to tell him about my depressing life and how I am mentally mercurial, which he knew already. But I cried to him about everything and more. Weirdly enough, he’s the only person who gets me and can listen without judgment. He always kn0ws what to say and how to help me. I feel like I can tell him anything. Because he’s just that kind of person, you know? That was another reason I loved him. Or love. I’m not sure.

As for Carla, she had repeatedly texted me, came to my door while I was sleeping, and was sincerely apologetic. But I’m not ready to move on from that. Because friends don’t do that. It would’ve been best for her to hurt Joey’s feelings by telling me since I had a higher priority of emotionality. I still haven’t replied, and I’m not sure what to say. I don’t even know if I’m right to be mad. Everyone tells me it’s betrayal; my mom said it’s unintentional but still betrayal. I remember her always saying how honest she is and would always test to see if I was honest.

I also then recalled how Joey told me he wasn’t romantically interested in anyone at the moment when I revealed my feelings. It sucked that I was transparent with people who said they were too. I didn’t want to tell people about the incident because I wanted to protect what people said about Joey because I care and know the real him. He’s never malicious. He worries a lot – too much – about being a bad person. Maybe it’s me protecting him because of his reputation or because I love/d him. Probably both. Because I take all the blame for the pain I feel. I invited it. I knew it would end; I just never thought it would go down in flames.

After talking to Joey about my depression and feelings, I asked him to stay the night. Not to have sex but just to comfort me because I had no one else. So he did. And we ate gingerbread and watched John Mulaney on Netflix and laughed and talked until we fell asleep. In the morning, I tried to have sex with him because I felt completely fine, but he refused to, which made me mad. Then it suddenly didn’t because he was doing the right thing. Even if I thought it was fine. And I also didn’t wanna pressure him. I had just appreciated him being there for me, making sure I ate and didn’t overdose. It sucks because he’s the kindest guy I know and yet he hurt me, meaning there’s little hope for anyone else. It also means I don’t wanna lose him. I feel like I physically need him. And that’s why I agreed to come down to San Antonio with my mom, so we can renew my health before school starts. It’s a lot of anxiety missing work and labs, letting people down and not covering my responsibilities. But I also am super self-destructive and I never was before, I never before starved or threw up food, never cut myself, never invited people to hurt me. I don’t wanna live in this pain. The issue is, the joy Joey gives me overshadows the pain he causes.

I rapidly ricochet between thinking everything is okay to thinking everything is wrong. And I don’t know how to stop it.

dress – taylor swift

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