honest in 2017

my mind and my hands have been burning the past few days for me to get these words out. it has been a long while since i’ve written, and even longer since i feel like i’ve written something meaningful.

when i was 14 and 15, i had a few boyfriends who i really liked while i was dating them but i was deeply uncomfortable with being touched. i did what i could to avoid making out, kissing, or even holding hands. it made my heart race and my hands sweat - and not in a good way. so in some sort of weird karma-induced twist, my boyfriend now will hardly ever make out with me. it’s weird because i think i understand how he feels. it’s karma because it might be what i deserve after making other boys feel like they weren’t good enough. it’s a twist because ultimately i ended all those other relationships and what if this one isn’t any different?

but it IS, though. because this man also braids my hair for me, holds my hand when we walk through crowds, holds me when i cry, calls me out on my shit, doesn’t read my diary when i was him not to, and makes me feel loved but independent at the same time. it’s not perfect but nothing is.

i took him to chicago and put myself in some more financial debt and hoped it would be much more romantic than it was. there was potential but nothing nothing nothing ever goes as planned. the hotel room was large, with a huge bed covered in white sheets. the bathroom was almost so overtly sexual that it made me laugh. there was a huge mirror facing the shower, which was surrounded in glass. i could imagine - with him or maybe even with someone different - being pressed against the glass and fogging up the whole room before the hot water can. but it was just a daydream. i fell asleep untouched and crying - but not before lying awake for a few hours because of the music bumping from the club on the floor below. i imagine that cole fell asleep easily, without any kind of regret or bad taste in his mouth because something feels off. but i could be wrong. i wouldn’t mind being wrong.

i’m not entirely sure what’s going, STILL. sometimes i’m okay with it, mostly i’m not. let’s just say that you can get used to pretty much anything if your heart is far enough into it. when i spend the dark, quiet hours crying because of my hurt feelings - the same thoughts go through my head. am i too fat? is my face unattractive? okay - but surely not, because he’s still dating me. oh my god…is he gonna break up with me soon? is that why he doesn’t wanna touch me? awesome. i can’t wait to be alone. why can’t i be as pretty as hayle? (at this point i grab my phone and stalk her instagram, careful not to like anything). she can wear crop tops. her smile is pretty. she’s witty, too. i can’t compete with that at all. i’m just annoying, too sensitive, and boring. if he doesn’t sleep with me then no man ever will. life is not a movie. life is not a movie.

luckily the city still makes me feel magical without help from any boy on this earth. the buildings so tall i could spend long, tireless minutes gazing up at them and so many strangers’ faces walking past me, all with different stories. the past 40 or so days since i graduated college has been a mix of great, awful, and stagnant. i’m not making any progress in my life and part of me feels so good about it. but i think i’m about ready - ready to move on to graduate school, a new job, a new town with the love of my life. despite all that is going on and the raging mental illness inside of me: love is love. i’ve learned to never give up on it. i’ve learned that i still don’t really know what love is. i’ve learned that it doesn’t fucking matter. like i mentioned before - i’ve learned that nothing is ever what you expect it to be. when i used to imagine love, i don’t even remember what imagined, but it wasn’t this. this is a lot better and a lot worse than i thought. i learned that being honest feels the best, no matter how embarrassing, crazy, or fucked up it sounds.

most of all, i’ve learned to trust myself.