Monthly Archives: April 2016

Day 1: For somene from my Distant Past

It has been nearly seven years since we have crossed paths and seven years since I saw your face anywhere besides Facebook pictures and yet somehow you managed to impact my life in such a way that I have an inferiority complex when it comes to guys.

Seven years and still those words haunt me when attempting to pursue a romance or when I look in the mirror and see that overbite and those pimples that you reminded me of every day. To you, it all meant nothing. I was just that ugly, awkward girl in your class throughout all of middle school.

It didn’t matter at all to you how my innocent, naïve heart was crushed to a million pieces or how much I desired to down a bottle of pills because I believe every word you and your follower friends said. It didn’t matter to you how I would go to bed with a soaked pillow every night questioning why I was so hated by you. All I ever did was like you, and it resulted in cruel words that impacted me harder than the sharp edges of a thousand knives to my delicate heart.

If I could go back in time, my god how I would warn my thirteen year old self that you were not worth it. You were not worth pining after for my whole eighth grade year. Maybe I loved your dark eyes and your plump lips that curved into a beautiful bright smile, but those were the only distinctive features about you. On the outside you were a handsome, popular, brilliant athlete. On the inside, you were nothing but a cold, heartless bully who destroyed a young, fragile girl mentally.

Yet, where are you now? A nobody with dreadlocks that hopes one day someone will care about your mixtapes. If only thirteen-year-old me could see that this is what she was hopelessly infatuated with.

Yet, would I listen to my future self back then? Probably not. For I was living in a fantasy world. A world where you would be sensitive and kind-hearted. Where you would bless me with my first kiss and wipe away my tears. Where I would gaze into those big, brown eyes of yours and you would view me as beautifully as I viewed you. Where your words were much sweeter and comforted my damaged heart. Where you would stand up against those bullies, us against the world.

Perhaps, I fell for this fantasy version of you. Perhaps you were the embodiment of everything I desired to be with, popular and loved. That was something I was not for I was an ugly duckling that lacked social skills and the butt of everyone’s jokes. For this reason, my heart chose you and chose to put the fantasies in place of your horrendous personality.

I kept living that fantasy and desired a romance that never happened because in reality you were repulsed by me. You made it your goal for you and your friends to make my final year of middle school a living hell and not a day goes by where I wished that common sense would hit me that underneath those innocent eyes and baby face you were as ugly as you thought I was.

That boy who cursed me out then bragged about the next day to all his friends like it was something worth a reward, the boy who gagged when he found out how I felt about him, the boy who would tease my every movement and word, the boy who tried to spit on me and put dust in my hair, the boy who swore I was so repulsive that my slightest touch made him cringe, that was the boy you were.

When I looked at you again anytime after this epiphany hit me, I no longer saw those gorgeous dark eyes and that smile but rather an ugly little boy so overwhelmed by his own insecurities that he needed to follow his friends and pick on anyone below their pathetic little circle to fit in.

-Lisa Marie Wolf

 

 

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Day 2: For My First Love

No matter how much time has passed I will always remember your bright hazel eyes and that blonde patch of hair on your head. You were always one of a kind and someone I will never forget.

Why do I never write of you, then? Well, our romance was one in which words cannot describe. Even as I write this, I struggle to find the right words and tears begin to fill my eyes. Of every guy I have ever been involved with, you are deemed as the one who will always hold a special place in my heart. You had immense love and care for me and proved so with every kiss and touch and that will forever be something I will hold onto in my darkest days.

We could be described as nothing more than, to others, a prime example of love between two not yet blossomed adolescents. We were young, immature, and naïve. We were sixteen yet spoke of the future as though we had a clue. In our eyes, which were blinded by the strong feelings we had for one another, we were inseparable.

I think back to those months with you and think of it as not just a juvenile high school relationship but rather as one of the happiest points in my life. All I remember is butterflies, laughter, passionate kisses, and comfort in each other’s arms. I think of how you would get enraged when you saw tears run down my face and the time you exploded at a group of idiotic boys for stealing something from me. How we could talk hours upon hours about anything and how talking to you felt so natural in a time where I was socially awkward. I think of how I felt compelled to run to you and comfort you when I heard what you were dealing with.

We were perfect.

Sure, it does not excuse the agony caused by you flipping the switch and not desiring to be with me anymore in that summer of ’12. That week where I seemed to have an infinite amount of tears and where food did not seem to stay down in my stomach. Where dark circles remained under my eyes and I had no idea what sleep was anymore. I attempted to go out to forget that we were together and yet the mere sight of our former dating spots triggered those painful memories I so desperately wanted to erase. As did rereading that conversation over and over again and seeing that relationship status that you used to break up with me as opposed to confronting me and for weeks I believed I despised you for hurting me and not even giving a care. You got to run around with a smug look and flirt with who you pleased right in front of my face and there was not a damn thing I could do but cry in private and grieve a once-perfect relationship that fell apart. We were in the same high school for one more year so I faced you and watched you move on while I was stuck hopelessly devoted to those magical months despite how more distant in the past they were.

And for that year I embraced hope to rekindle that flame that was long burned out until my last day of high school came where I received my closure and an inevitable truth hit me; the were no hope of reconnecting for we were not meant to be. We kissed for the first time in months that day and yet there was no sparks or butterflies as there had been the year before. It didn’t matter how things had been because no matter how deeply in love we were or how we once looked at each other like we were each other’s world and spoke about the future because we were not meant to be.

Even if four years has passed and I discovered that you broke up with me not to hurt me, but rather to protect me from yourself and that will forever hold a place in my heart, I ponder if it could have worked out between us if things had been different. That is not the course life chose for us, however, and I thank you for giving me such beautiful memories to have of the first relationship I was in and allowing me to say that I was genuinely happy even if for just six months and all thanks to you. I wish nothing but the best for you.

-Lisa Marie Lupo

 

Can You Tell Me

You can tell me how she looks with her clothes off. You can tell me what size her breasts are. You can tell me about how her hair touches her nipples when she releases it from those buns ahe always ties it in. You can tell me about all the beauty marks and scars she has on her body and where they are all located. You can tell me what her lips feel like and how the touch of her soft, bare skin feels. You can tell me how she sounds when she moans, if she screams or if she contains it with the bite of her lip. You can tell me what her kinks are and how well she pleasures your own. You can tell me how it feels to be inside her and how well she rides. You can tell me how she sounds when she’s done and if she leaves you satisfied.

Yet, can you tell me who she is?

You claim to know her so well. Can you tell me who she is underneath her skin? What does she aspire to be in life? What does she do for a living? What does she do in her free time? What makes her smile and what ticks her off? What is her favorite color? What does she look like when she cries? What has she suffered through in life? How did she get those scars and how many are there? Does she desire a meaningful relationship and family one day?
What does she think of when she sees you?
You claim to know her just because you have seen her naked, yet you cannot tell me even the simplest of facts about her as a person. You may know her physically and intimately, but you are a damn liar if you claim you know and respect that girl, because you do not know a single thing about who she really is nor do you care to know or else you would be more interested in what she has to offer within not what she has to offer under her clothes.
So answer this, can you tell me about that girl?
No you can’t, not at all.

To A Special Someone 

Dear XXXX,
Are you happy? 

You get to prance around with your girl, or whatever you have now if you realized she was a psycho, unaffected by the long-lasting impact what you did has caused me.

You were the first, and so far only guy I loved. The word “fuck buddies” used to leave a bad taste in my mouth when describing you to people because in my eyes you were so much more, and yet now it’s all I tell people we were because it’s easier than telling people how it felt to kiss you under the stars or how much I smiled whenever you texted me.

At one point or the other, the roles were switched and it was you that swore you had a thing for me. Maybe that was true, but my attention was elsewhere. All I know is that summer of 2014 I had suddenly took a liking for you. Was it the way you called me beautiful, or the way you kissed me in the rain by the Hudson River? Either way, I fell and fell hard for you. I would come to realize any old boy can call you beautiful or persuade you he want to be with you but I was eighteen and did not know any better. 

I think about your eyes, your little smirk, your soft lips and oh god do I wish to rewind to that lovely summer and fall nearly two years ago and relive it all. I don’t even regret a single moment with you despite all the despair it came with. 

“He’s just a dumb boy.” To me you were so much more. You were my reason to wake up every morning. You were the smile on my face and the beat of my heart. You were distinctive to any other guy I have met so far in my life. You were my friend, you were loyal and you would care enough to talk to me every day for months and months and get lowkey jealous when you saw me close with someone else. You did perhaps feel something too, or maybe it is just my perception that is blinded by love for you that is romanticizing even the littlest of things you did for me. 

You were always the tears I shed for you each night. You were the influence of the darkest days of my life and the reason why I felt my heart shatter for the first time. You were the dark cloud that stayed over my head as I attempted to down those pills. You were the bruises on my wrists as I subjected to my harmful desires for the first time in a long time. 

You were the first to present to me the cruelty of the real world. The people who betray you, who stomp all over your heart once they have it, those who see a vulnerable young person and use them to their advantage. 

I gave you my body, my time, my love. When you finished with me, you ran off to her arms and left me with nothing but dead hope of me ever being able to call myself yours and with memories I wanted to force out my mind. 

“My feelings are long gone.” Images of you and her. Facebook blocking. All of this while my mind lingered on you and only you and the wounds were still fresh. I briefly found comfort in the arms of another but you were still burned in the darkest depths of my mind. 

You still are or else I wouldn’t be writing of you on a Thursday night with tears in my eyes of every embrace, kiss and painful exchange of words we shared in my head. 

Not a day goes by where I don’t think of you. Even if I have given up hopes long ago of rekindling whatever it was we were and even if I have gained interest in other people since then, I will never forget you. Over a year has passed and I still remember your dark eyes, your cheeks I loved pinching so much, your soft body, the way you loved dark colors, your love for anime & gaming, your introverted nature, your dark sense of humor, how you seldom spoke with emotion, your perverted attitude equivalent to my own, your beautiful smile, how special you made me feel. 

My god, how I wish I could go back in time and do it all again. Be stupidly in love without saying it and have that perception of you again. It wasn’t you, but yet it made me happier than I have ever been in my life. 

But I can’t, it was not meant to be and as you said, your feelings are long gone. You refused me a chance because you were not seeking commitment yet you have a chance to someone else when you were done with whatever you wanted with me. 

For the earliest parts of 2015, and even now, I sometimes wonder if I cross your mind. If you think of my face or pass by a place where we made memories and miss me too. If it pains you to say my name and if you wish to run into my arms again. I wonder if you long to tell me all your troubles and hardships you face as I do with you. 

Have I impacted your life as you had mine? 

Probably not. Probably just some stupid little overly attached vulnerable girl you fucked and nothing more. You have someone now to call your own while I’m left with the scars of what you have done to me. It is easy for you to love again while I can barely let anyone in without pushing them away regardless of how I feel about them out of fear of history repeating itself. 

You don’t care about that because you got what you wanted from me. You don’t care about how I can no longer be with someone without questioning their every motive nor about how someone could grow attached easily than others and how every moment we shared was more intimate and romantic than any moment I shared with any other guy so far. 

I question how can I love again? Will I ever be able to or will I always be reminded of you whenever I do so much as even get close to a guy? Will I stop pushing people away and learn to trust again? Will these memories and your face forever haunt me? 

Will I ever stop caring so much about you even if you are no longer a part of my life? 

Clearly not, as I still write about you after so much time has passed since we last shared an intimate moment together and I still remember you so well and since you have impacted so much the scars still show whenever I have a new chance at happiness with someone else. 

And even if I was too full of shame to admit it and you don’t ever deserve to hear it, whenever someone talks of the first time I ever really loved I will think of you. 

Rico. 
-Lisa M. 

  

One More Time

“One more time”, she tells herself, as his hand gropes her breast under her dress, his lips on her neck. “One more time.”

Another night passes. Somehow, her lacy black thong is on the floor and their clothes are trailing from the living room to the bathroom. Her long, dark hair is covering her sweaty face as she rides him. On the outside, she is moaning with pleasure. Internally, she is feeling slight shame. “One more time.” She tells herself. “One more time.”

“One more time.” He tells himself one week later. He had truly believed he would never see her face again, and yet here she was, her hands stroking his penis gently. He felt damn near guilty for being so vulnerable to such pleasure from her, but he could not fight the urge to push her body against the wall and fuck her then and there.

“One more time.” He told himself. “One more time.”

His self-control could barely hold past a few days, as them going at each other’s throats turned into her getting on her knees and taking his cock down her throat. As he moaned he swore to himself that this would be the last time he gave into such foolish temptation. “One more time.” He told himself as he pushed that long, dark hair out her face and she stroked, “One more time.”

“That’s it.” She cried out the next day when she received no text back.

“That’s it.” He reluctantly grumbled as he flicked the ashes of his cigarette into the ashtray. Even if she remained implanted in his head all day, especially when he pleased himself, he simply refused to give in. They were beyond toxic for each other and the only connection they had was when he was inside her.

Still, he found himself with her thighs pressed against his cheeks. He licked around her vagina, hitting the spot as her body twitched and she could barely even contain to say, “One…more…time.”

She enjoyed teasing him. That is why she went down on him in a theatre with people just inches away. He enjoyed punishing her for her reckless attitude which is why he spanked her until her cheeks were as red as a tomato, to which she only pretended to protest against.

“One more time.” Would leave his lips as though he was being programmed to say it. At this point, he hardly even believe that phrase anymore. It was like saying a word over and over until it loses all meaning.

“One more time.” She mumbled in a monotone voice to herself as the water from the shower faucet poured on them, though she was already moist at the mere sight of the body she had come to know so well and still be so darn attracted to.

Every time to them was one more time. One more time of furiously shoving their tongues in each other’s mouths, one more time of releasing their pented up lust and desires for each other as he thrusted and thrusted until he came, one more time of pissing off the neighbors with moans and screams, one more time of her being taken to a place of euphoria with every lick and caress that no man had taken her to before, one more time of their clothes being a mere nuisance that was torn off and tossed away into a pile, one more time of the post-sex talk and cuddle, one more time of her running out of his apartment in fear of commitment, which had turned to her falling asleep in his soft, gentle embrace, and one more time of saying, “one more time.”

Each time was, “one more time.” Until that phrase lost any significance and faded away into the air because it stopped exiting their mouths. They had accepted this as a lie. There was never a one more time for them.

Once or twice is an experience. A few times is a bad habit.

More than that? Well, it becomes an addiction.

 

 

 

The Death of Melanie Valentine 

Her blonde hair reached her shoulders and her bangs always covered her face. She was faceless aside from her dark red lips and tear-stained cheeks. She was obsessed with light floral dresses. In the cold weather her knees would be red and covered in bumps, yet she was numb to it. She craved the pain. “Melanie deserves it.” Says her older sister, Lexie. Her only sibling. Her sister despised Melanie since she was always stealing away the attention in the household.

“Melanie just takes up space.” Says her mother. Her mother despised Melanie for always creating unnecessary problems. Maybe at one point she loved her daughter, but the moment her daughter began keeping everyone awake with her sobbing at night and robbing money from the family with her need for therapy, she despised her existence. She truly believed it was all in her head. 

“She needs reassurance 24/7. It is quite an inconvenience.” Says her boyfriend, Brian. Brian loved Melanie’s vulnerability. The moment he realized that getting under Melanie’s skirt meant dealing with her poor mental state, however, he began to find his satisfaction elsewhere.

“She is always doing things for attention. When she is not the main concern of anyone, she makes sure she is.” Says her best friend, Isabelle. Melanie was once Isabelle’s shoulder to cry on. When Isabelle was finally cheered up, she refused to let Melanie’s depression rub off on her. 

“She nearly passed away from blood loss last week after she slashed her wrists. It’s a damn shame she didn’t, it might save us the service of having to put up with her.” Says Justin, Melanie’s ex-boyfriend. He was a narcissist that dumped Melanie once he decided that he could not put up with Melanie constantly crying for help anymore.  

The sleeves of Melanie’s dress always covered her wrists and the skirt covered her thighs, both of which were covered in cuts. 

“She does it for attention.” Says Lexie.

“She just wants everyone to pity her as if she has any real problems.” Says her mother.

“Ugly.” Says Brian, his eyes not leaving his phone.

“I noticed the cuts on her wrist. I don’t ask where they are from though because I know that’s just why she does it. She wants people to pretend to care about her.” Says Isabelle.

“If she is really that miserable, she should just dig the knife deep and finish the job.” Says Justin.

The day came where Melanie did just that. 

There was no warning or note. Melanie had been hoping for someone to take her warnings seriously and yet no one did so. 

Melanie, exhausted with trying to reach out to people and fed up with feeling agony and selfish for seeking help from those she had helped out with for many years, allowed the knife to dig into her wrists until the handle touched her skin.

“I deserve it.” Her last thoughts were. “Everyone hates me. I deserve it.”

Melanie was found the next morning, her lifeless body near cold and her pale pink dress stained with blood. 

“My baby!” Cried out Melanie’s mother, the first one to spot her daughter’s corpse.

 Days passed and everyone discovered of Melanie’s passing.

“She did it for attention.” Muttered Lexie bitterly. When she attended the funeral, she was thrown out the church due to the commotion she caused while delivering a speech of how her sister deserved to die because she was a nuisance. Her breath reeked of alcohol. 

Justin did not attend the funeral. When he scrolled past the news on his Facebook, he just smirked and said, “Looks like she did us all a favor.” Then he moved on about his day.

Her mom did not leave her daughters side from the wake to the funeral. “My baby.” She kept crying out. “I should have been there for you.” She screamed through her sobs as she reminisced Melanie listening to her complain about the abuse she received from Lexie’s father. “I was so selfish. Why didn’t I listen? Why didn’t I help you?” Melanie’s aunts had to drag away her mother from the grave because she attempted to jump in with her daughter’s coffin.

Brian was at work when he heard of his girlfriend’s death. He dropped his phone, which was his best friend, the moment he saw “R.I.P. Melanie Valentine” on his News Feed. After work, he ran to the wake and barely missed it. He observed his girlfriend for the first time in a long time and took in her beauty. Her bangs were pushed out of her face and her face was no longer stained from tears. She laid in her coffin in her favorite pale blue floral dress, sleeves covering the gash from her stabbing herself. He remembered her wearing that dress the day he decided he wanted to be with her and they kissed for the first time. He grabbed her cold hand and cried. “I should have listened. I should have helped you. You tried to reach out to me, why didn’t I help you?”

Isabelle could not bear to go to her best friend’s funeral. Instead, she locked herself in her room and cried for days. Her family and friends tried to force her out, but nothing. She wallowed in her own guilt. “I’m sorry, Melanie. I should have listened when you told me you weren’t okay.”

The person that shocked everyone the most was Melanie’s father, Jonathan Valentine. No one, not even Melanie’s mother, had seen his face since months after Melanie was born. He flaked on them, forcing the mother to return to Lexi’s father’s abuse. 

At the wake, a strange man arrived in all black and a hat. At first, everyone whispered and questioned who he was. 

Until the mother said, “Jon?”

Jonathan took off his hat, causing everyone to gasp. Jonathan ignored them all and instead got on his knees near the casket. Despite barely knowing his daughter, tears streamed down his face and he kissed her cold cheek.

“Melanie.” He pushed out through his sobbing. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to know you better. You were such a beautiful young woman and you did not deserve to go like this. You did not deserve to believe that no one loves or cared about you. Not a day went by where I didn’t desire to meet you and be there for you. Daddy loves you very much, sweetheart. And I am here now.”

A figure arose from the casket at that moment. The figure was not visible to anyone yet it was huge and stood over everyone in the room. The figure had long blonde hair with the bangs down to the nose, red lips curled into a frown, and pale skin. The figure had on a pale pink dress with red stains. 

Though not audible, the figure uttered a few words before it disappeared:

“Where were you all when I was alive?”

  

Happiness

Sometimes I wonder if happiness exists. 

Or it’s all just an illusion to guise the fact that life is truly painful. 

The agony and despair some face on a daily basis makes you question if this life is worth living.

A life where I can no longer sleep at night because my mind is clouded with negativity. 

A life where I can barely go a day without tears in my eyes.

A life where I crave loneliness because it’s better than facing the cruelty people bring. 

A life where I can barely feel as though I am worth something no matter how hard I try to get myself to believe otherwise. People can tell me how beautiful and amazing they believe I am; I am still finding it harder to believe with every experience I face. 

A life where I can barely push myself through the day because it takes all my energy to even push myself out of bed into a world of depression and disappointment. 

A life where I have been hurt and tormented so much I am numb. 

A life where I have went over the limits of my strength and now am nothing but vulnerable and easily broken.

A life where I have so many mental scars I can no longer trust someone no matter how genuine they are. 

A life where I feel I can not reach out to anyone, not even my closest of friends out of fear of bothering or  them misunderstanding. 

A life where I am used, betrayed, bullied, and walked all over then left questioning if I deserve it.

A life where no one understands the impact of their words and treatment toward someone. 

A life where I am too delicate to handle this poor treatment. 

A life where no amount of pills or therapy will help. 

A life where I cannot express any of this out of fear of being deemed as crazy or crying for attention. 

A life where I no longer remember what happiness feels like or if I ever felt it at all. 

Or as an ex of mine once so delightfully said, 

“No one wants a depressed, insecure girl who whines all the time.”

I have came to the conclusion that some of us just aren’t meant to be happy. I ponder at times if I am one of those people. 

My Reasons Why-Part 3

Part 3-“Jason” 

 When we are young, we are taught that when a boy is mean to you, it means he likes you. Most girls learn the hard way that this isn’t true. Some girls never learn. Why do you think that so many girls chase after assholes? If this, “guys being jerks to you because they like you,” was true, then a lot of boys must have liked me when I was younger. 

 Especially this boy we’ll call “Jason.”

 My first crush was a boy in Kindergarten. I didn’t understand what liking meant yet or how to handle it. That’s probably why I would kiss him on the cheek without permission, which would get me in timeout and the boy was pretty much freaked out after that by me. Every little crush I had after that I just kind of ignored because I was supposed to believe boys were gross. I was also too embarrassed to after what happened with that boy in kindergarten. 

 Then came Jason. 

 Jason was in my class fifth to eighth grade. For the first three years he was just another boy in my class. He and I never really interacted except for when he would occasionally joke around with me. Despite being in the same middle school class, us talking was rare.

 How Jason became the first boy I ever really liked, I don’t understand. All I know is that one day I noticed how attractive Jason was. He had the cutest eyes and he was a funny guy. Now that I look back at it, I question why I even liked him, but twelve-year-old me didn’t care. I would get nervous around Jason, feel butterflies at the slightest touch, and when he was around I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him. I would think about what it would be like to date him. People would get tired of hearing his name leaving my lips constantly. 

 The only problem? As I stated, we never talked other than a few jokes here and there. To him, I was just some girl in his class. I was extremely shy and had no friends until eighth grade and I was really unattractive so it’s not like I could stand out. I mean I wanted to, but I didn’t know how to get his attention. When seventh grade ended and I knew we wouldn’t see each other for a few months, I made a Myspace with the sole purpose of talking to him. He accepted my friend request but still I was too nervous to speak to him. When I finally did, no response. I was disappointed but determined to grab his attention somehow that summer.   

 Jason and I had shared one conversation. One of my friends, who I’ll call Christian, had messaged Jason. At that time, I couldn’t understand why Christian had done it but apparently he was determined to prove that Jason was a jerk and decided to prove it to me in his own twisted Christian way. I woke up one morning to a message from Jason on Myspace. I remember Christian mentioned making a Myspace to talk to Jason but I didn’t think he was serious until Jason messaged me in capital letters telling me to leave him alone, why was Christian messaging him making fun of him and asking for his age and that he doesn’t know me well or want to get to know me. This crushed me. My first time liking a boy and already any chance of something happening was ruined. Christian did me a favor, but I didn’t know that at the time. I was too wrapped up in my infatuation and convinced that Christian ruined it for me. 

 Jason apologized after I sent him a message begging him for forgiveness. He accepted with a much calmer message and we talked a little bit so naturally I assumed everything was okay between us.

 Until he got a girlfriend. From there, it all went downhill. 

 It was the beginning of eighth grade, the year full of ups and downs. Ups because I became best friends with a girl in my class so I opened up more and began to stand up to bullies in my grade. This girl was a reflection of me and I find it a shame that she and I lost touch. She helped me get through eighth grade immensely.

 Since I started standing up to the bullies, the intensity increased. I had textbooks thrown at me, called every insult you could think of, and I couldn’t go anywhere or do anything without being the butt of people’s jokes. I was always the quiet one so aside from my best friend I didn’t speak to anyone really. For this reason, I failed to understand why I was the target of severe bullying. I didn’t mess with anyone and before that year I didn’t talk to anyone. I would cry and wonder why I was so ugly and awkward. I believed these insults toward me. 

 The fact that a boy I liked joined in on it was even worse. 

 I honestly can’t remember how. I do remember that Jason began to dislike me because of the Christian situation. Even though he was okay with it online, he began to join in on the bullying in school. Jason would refuse to sit near me, force me to not look in his direction at all, and accuse me of being nosy. I remember one day this girl joked about Jason taking me to prom. At this point, I had done nothing to Jason to deserve being humiliated, yet Jason decided to take the opportunity to mortify me by screaming, “Ewww,” and pretending to gag. No one laughed and one girl even called him out for it, but I was overcome with a feeling I had never felt before. That feeling of defeat, of rejection, of self-loathing. This would intensify through the course of that year. 

 There was also the time where Jason cursed me out on AIM. Jason found out I liked him. Our whole eighth grade class did. Between my big mouth and the big mouth of a “friend” I told, Jason’s girlfriend found out. This “friend” also didn’t fail to leave out what I said about Jason’s girlfriend out of jealous rampage. Now, Jason’s ex-girlfriend was a nice girl. She was popular but not cocky about it and very forgiving toward me for my poor treatment toward her. Jealousy was new to me and I didn’t know how to handle it. I may come off as crazy in this story, but I was twelve. I was naïve and socially awkward.

 I didn’t deserve anything Jason did to me that year. I just liked him. I couldn’t control my feelings or what Christian did. I regretted not keeping my stupid mouth shut about liking Jason. He was my first real crush. Had I known telling a few friends would result in the whole eighth grade knowing, I would have kept my mouth shut.

 I knew I was mocked behind my back, but I had no idea that I was so repulsive and hideous that Jason was teased because I had a crush on him. Skinny, pale, pimply faced, awkward, weird Lisa likes Jason. Hahaha, let’s laugh at her. Poor Jason. 

 For a long time after I would keep my mouth shut about my feelings. When I liked someone, I never told them because of how badly Jason reacted and how humiliating it was. Even now if I develop the balls to be open about my feelings to someone when I like them, I keep my mouth shut to everyone except close friend who don’t know the guy so that I am not the butt of everyone’s jokes. 

 Okay, so I embarrassed Jason by liking him. Did I deserve him cursing me out on AIM? Did I deserve the first boy I ever really liked calling me ugly, scary, dirty, pale, weird and any other name he could think of? Did I deserve having jokes about part of my family being Jewish and being white thrown at me when I did nothing wrong? I didn’t even insult him. I tried to be nice and went as far as apologizing and pleading for this to stop. I know now that Jason didn’t deserve an apology but I liked Jason and my naïve brain tried to spare his feelings and needed his forgiveness. I needed forgiveness from a guy who called me a psycho and informed me that I was considered the ugliest girl in school. The next day, he gloated to his friends as if cursing me out was something to be rewarded. I didn’t matter. I had no feelings.

 This bullying resumed for my final year of middle school. One day I decided I couldn’t take it anymore and fought back. The insults, the cursing out and the humiliation all began to overwhelm me. I don’t remember how it started, but I remember this one day, Jason and I began dissing each other and I just started coming up with comebacks. Jason and I went at it for hours until it turned into a fight of paper balls and me smacking him with a book. I was proud of myself but the bullying didn’t end there. For the whole year, Jason and his friends made it their goal to make my life miserable. They would attack any little thing I did even if I was just sitting down minding my own business. When it came to class presentations, I couldn’t speak without one of Jason’s friends doing something to purposely disrupt me. Near the end of my senior year, almost all the boys and some girls hated me for no reason. A game was made where you had to avoid anything I touched because I was “dirty” and if you touched it you would become as dirty as me. Even people who I never even spoke to joined in on this sick little game. 

 The worst part? I still liked Jason. I don’t know what possessed me to keep liking him at all. Maybe these were early signs of my tendency to like guys who treat me like utter shit. Jason made my last year of middle school hell, but I still clung onto feelings for a guy that was repulsed by me and insulted me in ways worse than any other boy has. Jason would violently throw balls at me in gym class and make fun of the way I spoke even if I wasn’t talking to him. When Jason’s friend made me cry because of an insensitive holocaust joke toward me, all Jason was worried about was whether or not he was in trouble. Jason was the worst kind of asshole and why I continued to crush on him and hoped he would quit bullying me, I don’t know.

 Of course, that didn’t happen. After I graduated middle school, I never saw or spoke to Jason again. We were Facebook friends for a while but we never spoke. Looking back on Jason, I wonder what I ever saw in that kid and why I continued to harbor romantic feelings for him despite the severe bullying he did to me. 

 The sad part is that, even if I didn’t like Jason and he and his friends found another reason to bully me, it still would have hurt just as much. 

 They tell you that sticks and stones may break your bones but names will never hurt you. Personally, I’d take getting hit with a dodgeball by Jason over him reminding me how ugly and weird I am every day. I’ve heard that bullying wouldn’t exist if everyone would just ignore it, but how would I ignore nearly half my middle school class calling me names and teasing my every move for no reason? I was already bullied heavily during all of elementary school, did I really need it to follow me throughout middle school? 

 For a long time, I believed that I deserved it. I believed that since everyone seemed to have it out for me, I must have been all these things there were calling me. Now, this isn’t true because I never did anything to deserve the bullying and a lot of them did it to fit in. However, that fact alone of being so repulsive that it became cool to bully me made me wonder why? Why did Jason feel compelled to bully me when all I did was like him? Why did anyone feel compelled to bully me?

 Even if seven years has passed since this happened, it still haunts me. I’ve grown to love myself a little more, but it hasn’t been an easy journey. Sometimes when I look at myself in the mirror, I still think of Jason’s words along with the words of the taunting middle schoolers and hate myself. 

 The worst part of it was that none of them would care about the long-lasting impact their cruel words had on me. They can just move along and sleep well at night, not caring that what they thought was just a little insult to them ruined a person’s self-esteem and perception of herself. 

The Knife

Jagged knife.

Baggy hoodie. 

Night sky.

Near empty car.

Filthy smell. 

Hooded man.

Innocent teen, iPhone in hand.

Messenger bag. 

Home-bound from work, pay day. 

Slash, Slash, knife through flesh. 

Bloodied tip. 

Teen left in tears.

Valuables gone.

Hooded man gone. 

No witness. 

Traumatized.

Scars remain.

Culprit moves on, yet teen lives in fear.

Like every New Yorker.

Children, Teens, Adults, Elderly.

Everyone is a victim, everyone is a suspect. 

Innocent lives, all living in fear.

Fear of the knife to their flesh, any moment.

Inhumane. 

My Reasons Why-Part 2

Part 2-“Ashley”

 

So you made it to part 2. Congratulations. I know that getting through part 1 wasn’t easy. Neither will the next fifteen. But you won’t regret it, trust me.

We all remember our first best friend. The one we’ve known since before we could even remember. The one who we always played with, slept over at each other’s house, and called when we wanted to talk about something that happened. You grew up together and watched each other change a child who threw tantrums and thought the opposite sex had cooties to talking about crushes and gossiping. Some of us are lucky enough to still have this friend and still get along with each other fine.

Some of us, however, aren’t so fortunate.

You may have this best friend burned in the back of your mind right now, but you may not have spoken to them in years. At one point they knew all your deep dark secrets. You knew theirs too. You know who they had a crush on, the time they did something they weren’t supposed to, and the time they lost their virginity. Despite having this information, you wouldn’t be able to tell me how they are now. Maybe there was a fallout, maybe the other person forgot about you or you with them, or maybe you guys just don’t talk anymore. Regardless, you both grew apart and now whenever you are in a crisis or need a helping hand, they aren’t they aren’t the first one you call anymore.

This one is about a girl I will call Ashley. When I think of my first best friend, I think of Ashley. Ashley felt more like a sister to me. My little sister wasn’t born until I was nine so until then Ashley was like the little sister I never had. My earliest memories were with Ashley. When we were kids, we would always talk to each other and play games. Whenever I went to visit my grandma, Ashley was always there. Spending time with Ashley was a reward for me. I had no friends since I was a loner and bullied all the time. Ashley was the only person I felt comfortable talking to and liked playing with. Ashley introduced me to so many games and movies. Ashley was the only person to really tolerate my awkwardness and obsessions I had. Whenever my family went somewhere, I would ask for Ashley to tag along too. We would pay extra just to have Ashley come along with us. Ashley slept over at my house very often. Once we started getting older these sleepovers turned into having heart- to hearts at one in the morning. We would share fears, insecurities, and things that bother us. Sometimes it got emotional and Ashley and I would start crying for each other. When I was thirteen, I started sleeping over at her house. We would spend a week together in her house. We would play games and have our heart-to-hearts. We would watch “adult” movies like Superbad or Bad Teacher. Ashley was probably the closest friend I have ever had in my life. Ashley and I had a bond I didn’t share with anyone else. We were inseparable.

Or so I thought.

Ashley herself went through a lot. Even as a child I knew she went through more than I even want to speak of. That’s what I loved about Ashley; we seemed to have a lot in common. We both had a lot of troubles to face.

Still, I would sometimes take the heat for her own troubles, and this is where my fallout with Ashley started.

A fact about me that will become essential, especially in this story, I am really bad at confrontation. This must be surprising considering that I am putting out my stories of what people have done to me and how I feel about them in full detail, but it’s true. I am terrified of facing people and telling them off because I am scared of what they will think. It’s a bad thing because it leads to people feeling comfortable with walking all over me and not caring about my feelings.

This was the case with Ashley.

I remember Ashley sleeping over at my house one time when we were kids. Ashley and I were doing something that I can’t quite remember. All I know is that at some point Ashley lost her temper and smacked me. Now this took me by surprise as Ashley never gotten violent with me before. As I filled with tears Ashley quickly apologized and pleaded for me to keep quiet about what she had done. Out of love for Ashley, I kept my mouth shut. Ashley never put her hands on me again, but it was this temper and this dominance she had over me that led to our fallout.

Ashley would always insert rude little comments that hurt me but I ignored it as much as possible because of that ugly fear of confrontation. I enjoyed spending time with her, but it would at times become unpleasant because of her mean-spirited comments toward me. When we played games she would mock me for being bad at it or place the blame on me when we lost. Ashley would tell me to shut up in a loud voice or mock my taste in shows.

What really was a red flag though was Ashley’s rudeness toward my mom and little sister. Now Ashley was from my father’s side of the family. She seemed to really love and idolize my dad and it was understandable. My mom would also welcome Ashley into our home and take us out. Ashley and I developed a tradition of seeing every Twilight movie together in theatres when it came out. It started because my mom took us to see the first one back in 2008. Despite my mom’s caring and welcoming attitude toward Ashley, she still openly despised her. She would make comments about her and accuse her of things she never did. When I asked her why, she never gave me a valid reason. Mind you, my mom had not did anything to harm or disrespect her, so why she disliked her I’ll never understand.

Ashley openly disliked my little sister as well. At this time, my sister was about five or six years old, so basically Ashley disliked a child. My sister loved Ashley and would hug her and attempt to play with her as well. I noticed Ashley would avoid her a lot so I was confused. Then one day, Ashley and I were playing a card game. Ashley had slept over for a few days and was about to leave so we decided to play cards before she left. My little sister, we’ll call her Alexis, wanted to be included too as little kids do. We politely told her that this was only a two-player game. Alexis threw a tantrum until my mom got her out of there. So while this just annoyed me, it seemed to infuriate Ashley. I couldn’t understand why, I mean Alexis was still a kid and Ashley has nephews Alexis’s age. Ashley claimed that Alexis wasn’t well-behaved, yet she was no different from Ashley’s nephews at all. Despite her clear lack of respect for my mother and sister really bothering me, I kept my mouth shut.

Everything blew up months after this visit.

In early 2012, I went to go spend the week at Ashley’s. I began to sleep over at her house more often now. For a long while I couldn’t help but notice a change between Ashley and I. In addition to her rude comments, she didn’t seem so stellar about spending time together. I went to see her for her fifteenth birthday the year before and she played on the computer while I just sat on the bed remaining ignored. When I texted her excited that I finally had a cell phone that could text and we could talk more, she just responded with, “Oh cool.” A huge awkwardness developed between us but neither of us addressed it. I was still sixteen and naïve to the concept of best friends growing apart so I thought that maybe it was just because she was going through something she hadn’t told me about yet. We were due to have a heart-to-heart during one of our sleepover nights, so maybe there we would address the elephant in the room.

For days, of course, the issue wasn’t addressed. With me being bad at confrontation and expressing how I feel, I never asked her why there was such hostility between us. It’s like I was invisible. Gone were the days of games and movies. We watched movies but we didn’t share our little commentary on how we felt about subject matters in the movies or claim hot guys we saw as we always did. When I or her brother would suggest games, she would rather be on the computer or her phone than talk to me when I was right there. I spent my days there bored for the first time ever and was far too polite to admit it. This is where I was at fault. I let my fear of confrontation take over and instead messaged my mom asking her to help me come up with an excuse so I can come home. I also told my best friend at the time, we’ll call her Robyn, saying that Ashley was ignoring me and that I was depressingly bored. Keep in mind, Ashley and I hadn’t spoken about the awkwardness so as far as she knew, there was nothing wrong.

I trusted Ashley with everything, so I let her have the password to my iPod Touch. On my iPod Touch I had Facebook Messenger where I was talking to Robyn about Ashley. My phone where I was texting my mom had no passcode. These facts are going to become very important soon.

One night Ashley and I watched a movie. After the movie, Ashley and I had our heart-to-heart conversation, the last one we ever had. Afterwards, I fell asleep in Ashley’s living room and thought everything was okay now. For once we had a normal night and I didn’t have to face my fear of confrontation.

Or so I thought. I have a faint memory of Ashley waking me up at some point in the night to tell me that I could stay in the living room for the night. Usually, we’d sleep in her bed. Thinking back to it now, her tone of voice was off and hinted that something was wrong. In my half asleep state, I just nodded and went back to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up with a letter next to me. The letter was written on loose-leaf paper and written on it said, “I am sorry.” The letter is still on my bookshelf in my room and for a long while after this I would read the letter over and over and each time would be as equally painful as the first time. I won’t read the exact letter, but basically Ashley wrote that she had read my messages to my mom and Robyn when I was sleeping. She apologized for boring me by “being herself.” Ashley said she just wanted to spend time with me because she loved me and thought I wouldn’t mind whatever we did. She suggested I learn to speak for myself instead of depending on my mother and if I don’t like being around her so much, I should just leave.

After reading this letter, I felt a mix of emotions. I was furious that she invaded my privacy, pained at some of her cruel words, and guilty because I had not approached her about what was wrong. Now that I think back to it, I realize it wasn’t all my fault. Yes, I should have approached Ashley, but she should have approached me too instead of reading my messages while I was sleeping. That was just some sneaky shit that proved to me that I couldn’t trust her either.

What was even more hypocritical was that afterward she took to Tumblr and made passive-aggressive blog posts cursing me out and insulting my mom and little sister. What was really sneaky of her was that I never had Tumblr before so she could assume that I would never see it. I only saw it because one of our friends who followed her on Tumblr told me about it and sent me a link to the posts. It was then I decided to forget her and move on with my life.

She was rather cold anyway. When I left she did not even look me in the eyes or speak to me. The first and only sentence that slipped out of my mouth was a nervous, “I’m sorry for what I said.” Ashley shrugged at me and no more words were shared. The most we exchanged after that was an awkward forced hug. I have not seen Ashley in person since then.

For a long while, I despised Ashley. I hated that she invaded my privacy and I hated that she made that post about my mom and my sister on Tumblr. She would also post obvious subliminal statuses on Facebook about how our grandma favored her over any of her other grandchildren. I never posted anything rude about Ashley and her mom or siblings. Even after this, I still didn’t. The fact that she stooped that low instead of just keeping the tension between us made me despise her even more.

I question why she is the one to hold the grudge. I honestly accept my part of the blame. I honestly understand why I should have spoken to her about how I felt and I accept it. If I could go back to four years ago, stop myself from sending those texts, and confront her about it instead, I would, but I can’t. If she is going to hold a grudge she should at least stop acting like she wasn’t in the wrong for reading my messages without permission and for crossing lines she never should have crossed by talking about family.

That next summer when my dad was in the hospital, her brother spoke to my mom on the phone and pushed Ashley to talk to me. The conversation had an awkward pause and I whispered something to my mom since she was right there. After this conversation, Ashley took to Tumblr to write that we had an argument because I depend on my mom to fight my battles for me and yet when we finally speak for the first time in months I get off the phone for five minutes asking what to say. So basically, she once again contradicted herself and did the exact thing that caused our fallout on both of our ends; lack of confrontation.

Since then, Ashley and I have hardly spoke. There has been Facebook conversation from time to time but they were short and felt awkward. We still write to each other on our birthdays every year but it has gone from sweet little messages to short, forced ones. The grudge is still there clearly on her part because her  birthday message for me included that I was the person she “used” to want to be like. Why she felt it was necessary to put that, I don’t know. All I know is that it’s pretty clear Ashley and I will never be close again.

For a long while, I blamed myself. Even though deep down I knew it wasn’t entirely my fault, I felt like I did something to deserve Ashley not wanting to forgive me like I did her. Ashley was the first person that I lost that I was close with.
Over time, I came to accept that some friendships weren’t meant to last a lifetime no matter how close you are. Even if Ashley and I were as close as sisters at some point, and I’m glad we were, we still grew apart.

I still miss Ashley sometimes. It’s gotten a lot easier now, but there have been times where, despite everything, I just wish we can relive the innocent days where we believed friendship could last forever. The days of our games, heart-to-hearts, and caring about each other. I used to wonder if she ever missed it too or if she had moved on for good. Ashley seems happy, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t happy for her. I just sometimes question if she’s happier without me in her life.

What hurts the most about Ashley was that she was family. If you can’t trust family, then who can you trust?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Part 2-Ashley Update

So when I wrote Part 2-Ashley, it was the beginning of February and an unexpected event occurred shortly after that that changed everything. I said I had not seen her in years, well that’s changed now. There is a bit more to the story now.

It was February 13th, 2016. I just got back from a party with friends and it was close to midnight. I threw off my coat and hopped into bed. No one was going to bother me. It had already been a long night.

The day before, I found out my grandma was ill. I was close with my grandma growing up, so imagine how I felt watching her lay on a bed in her nursing home, oxygen tank connected to her nose and words unable to leave her mouth. I was full of pain for her and regretted not visiting her enough the past year. Not even on her eighty-eighth birthday because I was too busy working. I prayed and prayed for a recovery. My grandma was always a fighter. She could pull through this and I could spend more time with her.

Unfortunately, this was wishful thinking. Minutes before Valentine’s Day, my grandma passed away.

My grandmother was a loving, family-oriented woman. She always brought the family together on holidays like Easter and Christmas. She attempted to keep everyone together and cool tensions. She was loved by all of her children, grandchildren, and greatgrandchildren.

That meant everyone would be there.

When I entered the room with my parents and sister, the first thing we saw was my grandma’s body surrounded by family.

Naturally, Ashley was there. The same girl I was friends with for nearly fourteen or so years and I were finally brought together again by the death of the woman who was the reason why we were brought together in the first place. We hugged, shed tears, and joked about this being a shitty way to reunite for the first time in years.

That’s how it was for the next week with Ashley and I. For our grandmother’s sake, we put aside our tensions and past issues. We comforted each other at the wake and funeral. We talked as much as we possibly could for those two days. Without Ashley we would not have made it to the burial because she gave us directions to the cemetery and walked us through getting there when we got lost. Ashley heard about my panic attack when we got lost and understood it. When we went to a restaurant after we talked and laughed like the old times. There was a promise of returning to our old sleepover traditions. Though I would love to have our old friendship back, I wondered if it’s possible to go back to the way things were after our fallout.

Part of me wants it. The same level of trust has not been achieved but she’s nice and caring once again and she has more respect toward my mom. We also both understand depression and anxiety.

But is that enough to put the past behind us? Or was this all just connecting with each other based on mutual grief for a woman we equally loved so dearly?