Tag Archives: depression

My Thoughts Day 1: My Anxiety is Slowly Killing Me

What is anxiety?

Anxiety is not just simply the feeling of being anxious, nor is it just the feeling you get when you have a math test later on, or when you are about to speak in front of a group of people. Anxiety is a mental illness, much like depression. It is a disorder in which you excessively feel uneasy and worry over current and future events. When you have anxiety disorder, your typical response to most conflicts is to overthink obsessively and worry yourself sick. When everything becomes overwhelming, it can result in a panic attack, or in some cases something close to a panic attack. What makes anxiety disorder distinctive from that feeling of being anxious is both the response to it, and the fact that when you have anxiety disorder you obsess over whatever you are worried about, whether it is a big conflict or something trivial.

Another difference? You cannot control anxiety disorder. No matter how much you want to, or how much you try to control your thoughts, you just can’t. It’s like telling someone with bipolar disorder to control their mood swings, or telling someone with ADHD to learn to control themselves; it’s just not possible.

Some people do, however, disagree with this. They will say that anxiety is not a disorder, but rather people upsetting themselves over little things. Everyone has problems, but are able to get over it. People who claim to have anxiety disorder are just people crying for attention because they don’t know how to handle their problems.

I have an example from the past of dealing with people with this ignorant mindset:

Early August 2015. Warm summer day. Canal Street, NYC

I am with my ex-boyfriend and his mom, giving their friends a tour of Manhattan. We have been walking around with no break all day. We went from walking the Coney Island boardwalk, to the Staten Island Ferry and back, to walking from South Ferry to Tribeca. They were hoping to walk Chinatown and Times Square next, but my feet were tired and I had work the next day. They were walking in an extremely fast pace as well so that did not help my aching feet. The sun was also ready to set, and I hated travelling on the subway alone at night. One would think that after keeping me out on my feet all day, my ex would have had the decency to take me home or make sure I get home safe in some way. Oh no, he was going to send me off alone because, despite making me go around Brooklyn and Manhattan with his friends, he decided he couldn’t part ways with them for just a little bit just so that he could ensure I made it home okay. Not to mention that he thought all that travelling and walking we did was not too much, and his mother seemed to agree with this poor treatment toward me.
So here is what I thought:
Wow, my safety is not important to him or his mother.
Are you fucking kidding me?
How do they not see that they are wrong?
I feel like I walked all over New York City. All five boroughs.
He really doesn’t care about me, does he?
He seems more invested in his friends despite me taking time out my day to travel around all day, and visit tourist spots of a city I have lived in all my life with people I don’t even know. While we were on the ferry and at the 9/11 memorial he barely even paid me any mind. What I am doing for him doesn’t mean anything, huh?

These thoughts didn’t just cross my mind just once, nor did they leave when I tried to argue with him and he just wasn’t getting it throughout the day. Neither was his mother. In fact, she was encouraging his behavior toward me on letting me leave alone. I felt so overwhelmed, and all those horrendous thoughts I listed above kept replaying in my head like a broken record. My heartbeat kept increasing rapidly, and I felt like the sun was suddenly beating directly on me. I tried, however, to ignore it.
Then we went from Chambers to Canal street to get to Chinatown. On the way there is where it happened. Where I argued heavily with his mother as my heart felt like it was going to rip out my chest from beating too hard and where I felt like I was drowning in sweat. Still eager to prove my point, I kept on going until he lost his patience with me and threw something then walked away.
Then, the flashbacks played in my head. The flashbacks of growing up witnessing my father do the very same thing when he lost his temper quickly. Him lashing out on my family and I so easily, along with his habit of throwing and breaking things when he lost control, caused me to become frightened whenever someone lashes out on me or starts throwing things around out of anger.
That is exactly what happened. Except I did not just cower away from the scene in fear. I began shaking and tears began falling down my face. He had stormed away, but his mom noticed, and questioned why I was crying. My mind had eventually blanked out, and I only remember the following events in bits and pieces. I remember leanung against a rough brick wall because I could not even figure how to stand up anymore. I remember sobbing so loud I felt everyone around me was staring at me. I remember feeling like I was having a heart attack because the pounding of my heartbeat was so hard it was causing me immense pain. I rememeber it suddenly felt like breathing was too difficult to do and each inhale and exhale became stronger and stronger. There was sweat dripping from my forehead and palms, and the temperature felt like it increased to two hundred degrees. I recall the images of my ex in front of me with his mom and all my other surroundings flipping on and off as I attemped to pay attention to my surroundings like that bullshit Facebook post advises to do to ease out of a panic attack. I remember trying to push out words, but my heavy breathing made it impossible to talk. As I slowly began to come back to my own self, I had to resist the urge to both punch my ex in the face, and to jump in front of traffic in the nearby street.

Saying that I wanted to punch him may sound cruel, but my anxious mindset had automatically turned to inflicting violence on anyone who got even the least bit loud with me. I did not punch him, as I slowly began to regain control again, but who could blame me when he was urging me to answer him, and getting visibly angry with me that I did not when he saw how I was gasping for air?

Even if this was over a year ago, I do recall him saying these words:

“What do you have to be so anxious about? You need to chill.”

I also recall his mom saying this:

“You are too young to be getting upset like that.”

While it upset me, I should not have even been surprised. I kept wondering why someone so close to me that I have been there for could even think something so ignorant and have the nerve to speak so negatively against me for having this right in front of my face. I also wonder why someone who is a grown adult and a mother could honestly believe young people can’t have problems or be allowed to get upset over things. Then I remember that some people are just so closed-minded that they do not understand, or make an attempt to understand, something that does not affect them. It is like when someone tells another person with clinic depression to just get over it and go out more; some people have ignorant beliefs about certain things they don’t know personally about.

When it comes to people who are ignorant about mental illnesses, I keep them at a distance. If they cannot shut up about their ignorant beliefs, I drop them like a boom. As I wrote in a previous post, “Special Snowflakes Versus the World,” everyone is entitled to their own opinion. As long as you do not shove that opinion down my throat, I will respect you whether or not I agree with it. I have had many friends who are closed-minded about my mental illnesses, and while their views on it irk me, I leave them alone about it as long as they do not judge me about it. I also have vowed to myself never to date someone who says nasty things in response to my anxiety again, and is anything but helpful when I imevitably have a panic attack.

I have a lot of supportive friends and a boyfriend who is understanding of anxiety and very patient when it comes to panic attacks. They subsided over the past year, as I started seeing a therapist shortly after that incident with my ex, and I started back on medication last October. The worst panic attacks I had were when I underwent a lot of stress during my last semester of college, and when I was in my uncles car back in February to say goodbye to my grandma when it was time for her to be buried. While I had my medication and methods of coping with anxiety, such as writing and painting, it was still hard sometimes to ignore anxiety. Anxiety may be incurable, and you just have to learn to live with it, but lately it has gotten worse. My last dose of medication is gone, life finds a way to slap me in the face with a load of crap at one time, and my depression has found a way to kick me in the ass in such a way that my interest in anything I was passionate about to help calm my anxiety is gone. The fact that I have been able to keep my attention on this post for so long in one day amazes me.

What is it that I am so anxious about, as my ex had once so delightfully asked? Well, to close this post, I present to you an anxious thought train of mine. This final piece of my post derives from a time where my anxiety takes over, which can either happen due to a certain event, someone seriously upsetting me, or just when I am alone at night trying to sleep and the thoughts find their way in. The following thought train is an example of the last one.

A thought train:

*I am a disgrace. I don’t deserve to be happy, why do I ever think I will be? I want to apply to NYU, but what makes me think I will ever get in? If I don’t then I am a letdown to my family who wants me to better myself for the future but I just can’t do it. I have a great scholarship oppritunity to help get me into NYU but I can’t seem to get anyone to help me with recommendations and the application deadline is Tuesday. Crazy how I always help people and they never help me. But maybe that is the reason why. Maybe I don’t deserve any help. When you help people it should be selfless, and yet here I am expecting people to drop what they are doing to write something for me about how great I am. I am not gonna finish thay application in time. Maybe I did not know about that damn scholarship until yesterday, but maybe I would have if my lazy ass had started looking for scholarships sooner. I am a disappointment to my mom, my sister, and everyone I care about.

I turn 21 in eleven days. 21 and all I have is an Associates’ degree and no clue with what I want to do with myself. My phone battery is at thirty six percent. I want to continue with this post and post it today. I know I said that the purpose of this was to prove the significance of freewriting but I want it to be perfectly written. Who am I kidding though? I am not the best writer, no matter how hard I try. I know I am good, but there are so many good writers out there, so what makes me think that I am so special? I am mediocre compared to most, so I probably won’t make it out there. I don’t want to be famous, but I do want my writing to speak out to some. But how can it when all I do is write rants and personal experiences on this blog once in a blue? I am 20 years old with no plan, no future, and no idea of how I’m gonna pursue what I want to do. My life is a mess. Should I even say more?

Ah yes. I need glasses. I can barely see what I am typing because my reading glasses got crushed in my bag. But I can’t afford new ones. I can, but then I have no money saved. Money seems to be one thing I am anxious about. It shouldn’t be, but it is because I need stuff and because I am one of the worst savers in history. I need so many things. I want to save money for my birthday too…oh what does it matter? No one else seems to care much for it. People want to make requests on what I should do but no one cares to try and help out but me, my boyfriend, and my mom. My sister would probably help if she could. That is beside the point though. The last time anyone even did anything for me was my close friends taking me to a buffet years ago, and a friend of mine that took me out to a chocolate resturant two years ago. Oh wow, look at how ungrateful I am. I complain so much but now that I think about it people do care about my birthday. My best friend came with my family to a resturant last year and got me a giant teddy bear. Here I have the nerve to complain no one cares or tries. Its no wonder I feel selfish; I am very selfish. I do help people, some of which don’t help back, but I have close friends who care. I have a mom thay cares, a sister that cares, a boyfriend that cares, friends that care. I should be happy with that, but Im not. All I ever do is complain to people and then get angry at them for the littlest things, just like my exes said. I would not be surprised if one day, everyone I know and love just left me because I am pathetic in every sense and complain about everything. I know it annoys me, which is why sometimes I want to do whatever I can to make it all go away. No, those kind of thoughts are selfish too. You see Lisa, you are so annoying and selfish. So selfish. Just shut the fuck up already.*

Most of those thoughts may seem ridiculous, and I am sure anyone who cares about me that will read this will want to slap me for thinking such insolence, but that is anxiety and what it does to the brain. It is like my normal self leaves my body and is replaced by some overly obsessive worrier that repeats the same negativity over and over and lists everything wrong with my life, even if nothing is wrong, and causes me to see nothing but negative outcomes in everything. That whole thought train was my anxiety speaking, and what I deal with on a daily basis. I wish it would go away, but it wins every battle and takes over my head too often. It keeps me up at night, it causes me to need reassurance from others constantly that everything is okay and they don’t hate me, and it causes me to have those panic attacks that seem to go on forever when I am too overwhelmed by everything.

Now tell me anxiety disorder is made up and can be easily controlled.

 

 

Happy

Happiness is the American dream. The attractive, intellictual spouse and your own, beautiful house. Waking up to the sounds of your children running about and the dog you dreamed of since you were a child being for a walk. Getting in that car that you never once imagined you’d have and driving to your dream job that is the reason you have nine digits in your bank account.

Happiness is the smoke I puff out my lungs. Happiness is knowing I can no longer be hurt because I am and always will be alone. Happiness is waking up to no one by my side that I have to worry will no longer be by my side once they have made any use of me that they desired. Happiness is staying in that same bed an alienating myself from those people I call friends that make me want to tie a noose around my neck. Happiness is getting through the day without shedding a tear or a trigger to a panic attack. Happiness is those pills I swallow to erase these horredous thoughts from my mentally ill “psychotic” mind. Happiness is just surviving through another day without giving into those dark innermost desires I have in which I mask with this pseudo-happiness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Bridge

The bridge was long;
Stretched out from the busy City Hall streets,
To the quiet, serene Brooklyn streets.
Below it is the East river
On it is the soles of pedestrians,
And turning of bike tires.

Upon curiosity, I took an expedition
Across this bridge, on a warm late spring morning.
Joining the tourists, the cyclists, the joggers,
I took a mile-long walk across this bridge.
On this walk, I never returned
For I became lost in the beauty of the flowing, glistening river.

As I walked, I observed the bridge;
the long cables extended across to hold the bridge,
the stunning view of lady liberty and the Freedom tower,
Starving artists and their extraordinary drawings,
the highway that ascended on one side and descended on the other,
And the padlocks left by couples that symbolized everlasting love.

In the sky, the sun began to set in the horizon
Orange and red covered the sky,
And the reflection of the red took over the crystal-blue water.
The water carried cool air that slowly became colder,
as the gorgeous orange-red sky faded into darkness,
And very few living souls across the bridge remained.

Somewhere in between the padlocks resembling forever,
and tourists capturing the stunning sights of the bridge
I wound up in between the cables,
A direct view of that river beneath my feet
That became closer gradually
Until my body became in contact with the river

Somewhere along that beautiful bridge,
among the cries of,
“don’t do it,”
my body elevated into the sky
and gradually descended into the river.
No longer was that bridge in view.

Somewhere along that cold night in May,
as darkness consumed the sky,
on that bridge that was admired so greatly,
I took my final breaths.

 

 

My Beautiful Chaos

The cigarette lays in between my trembling fingers as I huff and puff and blow away my problems. I feel tears gathering in my eyelids but I blink them away because you are not worthy of such expression of vulnerability. Your cruel words, the last words I fear that I will ever hear from you, are still playing through my head as I take my last pull. The pull burns my insides, yet it is not as agonizing as the impact of those words you had so brutally said to me. That gentle man I wrote of on my blog last week was not you, for you are nothing but the pain shooting through my chest. The pain that you inflicted when you had told me that your feelings were gone just as I was getting comfortable in your arms. All I desire is to wipe away any memory left of your cruel words and for them to become as the cigarette butt underneath my shoe. I wish to down bottles of alcohol until my liver gives out to keep you off my mind.
We were toxic, poisonous to each other. It always baffled me how one can deliver so much pleasure to your body yet be so venomous to you mentally.
Those mellow days of pillow talk and movies were what I wanted us to so badly be. I craved to be yours, physically and emotionally. For those few nights, I was yours and I genuinely believed that I belonged there.
Maybe it is not you I crave, but your touch and the way you had spoke so gently to me with those bright brown eyes and your eloquent way of speaking. The taste of affection and sensuality I so longed for was in the palm of my hands, yet ripped away so quickly.
The memories I once treasured are now replaced with grief. Greif for something that was hardly even close to a relationship and some one who did not show any remorse to the immense pain he inflicted on me, and for the beautiful chaos that was you and I. Not us, for there was never a point we were ever on the same level, but we were two complex individuals that when collided resulted in the arguments that ensued those beautiful nights and at each other’s throats in chaotic exchanges.
I always say I hate these late nights where sleep does not seem to come to me, yet it is the closest I will ever be to you, again. The smoke I consumed and the nights where sleep was deprived from me except instead of your presence I am cursed with tears and being unable to breath wondering if you are okay and if your cruel words toward me where true.
My friend says it is not you I am infatuated with, but perhaps the chase. Maybe that is true and knowing I cannot have you attracts me to you even more so than being in the arms of any other guy who would not speak to me in such a mean-spirited way or compare him taking advantage my emotions to his sexual urges. The fact that you are out of reach and that you are no good for me is where this wanting to have you derives from. I have a desire to prove all your nasty words wrong and to help you though I know you would not care about the impact your cruel words have on me because I am just that kind-hearted though you seem to believe otherwise. The aggression I had toward you was released temporarily during sex until the tears came out after when I faced the harsh reality that I could let you penetrate me a thousand times and you still would not want anymore than a few minutes with me, but still my heart longed for you and only you.
Maybe I am addicted to this beautiful chaos that was you and I.

Chaos

“You are beautiful”

In the mirror she was hideous. She had scars all over her body and an overbite made up of bright yellow teeth and a plethora of pimples across her body. Her stomach poked a little big and her hips were larger than the rest of her body. Her eyebrows were as thick as the hair on her arms. Her eyelashes, however, were no longer thick as she pulled at them to relieve anxiety. She had the face that reflected that of a thirteen year old despite being twenty. Her light brown eyes depicted a sad, troubled young woman.
Perhaps that is why, the moment any man even remotely attractive called her beautiful, her legs spread open. One stroke to her ego, and she welcomed any intimacy in attempt to boost up her self-esteem.
When she fell into his arms and when he was inside her, she felt wanted.
She felt beautiful.
Until he pulled out and the affection was over. She was beautiful enough to have sex with, but not beautiful enough to pursue any further with.
She sat at home, looking at her face in the mirror. The mascara down her face, her eyes puffy, and her cheeks soaked with tears. His words sunk deeper than he would ever know, outweighing the impact of his claims that she was beautiful.
Pitiful. Repulsive. Unloved. Worthless. That was what she was.
Yet she longed pathetically to feel that high self esteem she felt when he complimented her and gave her the affection she felt she was far too ugly to get anywhere else.
So when he had left her to deal with the agony, the disgust with herself, and the constant belief that he had not desired anymore than what was under her clothes because she was repulsive, she looked in that mirror again.
She hoped to find that empowerment she felt when he had called her beautiful and did things to her body that made her feel beautiful, but instead she saw In the mirror she was hideous. She had scars all over her body and an overbite made up of bright yellow teeth and a plethora of pimples across her body. Her stomach poked a little big and her hips were larger than the rest of her body. Her eyebrows were as thick as the hair on her arms. Her eyelashes, however, were no longer thick as she pulled at them to relieve anxiety. She had the face that reflected that of a thirteen year old despite being twenty. Her light brown eyes depicted a sad, troubled young woman.
Until the next remotely attractive guy came along and called her beautiful. Then, she spread her legs, and the cycle continued.

My Thoughts

On the one hand I want to keep going to see what life has in store yet on the other I want to just give in to that blade and those pills that tempt me but yet I cannot bring myself to do so because that fear of eternal darkness consumes me before the blade touches my skin yet at the same time I crave a taste of death maybe it tastes sweeter than this hell of a life and my god how much it will pain my family and the few remaining friends I have but perhaps they will be better off without a burden such as myself yet I question if I am just being selfish or maybe it’s the reality of things because I am equivalent to a pest to those who love me and nothing more than someone you shove into your busy schedule when you need something from me to those who I wish would actually care about me but what does it matter because I have to be kind-hearted though that’s what I have been all my life the moment I shed tears or vent I am merely seeking attention yet if I shit rainbows and speak so monotone suddenly I am too shy so I suppose I cannot win in this hell of a life where I am nothing but worthless and lonely and fuck I just wish that I can freely release my tears and feel loved and relevant and not be someone wearing a mask that depicts a smiling face when all I am is dead and broken inside and I question if I will ever find love or if I will just be viewed as a vulnerable, pathetic girl that guys will use to pleasure themselves and move along or if I am just an unlovable person and if I will ever get anywhere in life and if I will ever stop eating my feelings then feeling fat and repulsive afterwards and also a nights sleep would be nice too instead of closing my eyes and seeing babies stripped of life or questioning if I am loved in any way, and if all these thoughts will continue to consume my mind and if anyone would care or if so-called people who care will continue to ignore or not take seriously cries for help but best believe if something were to happen their eyes will shed phony tears and they will convey fake remorse because that’s how life is, just like Holden Caufield says, everyone is all a bunch of phonies and all anyone ever does anymore is hurt people and God do I wish I gave no more fucks but I know deep down its not who I am for I have too big of a heart and all I ever seek is the good in everyone and all I ever want is to grant people happiness but no one ever seems to wish that for me so I guess I just have to face the harsh reality that not everyone was destined to be happy and the ones who were are just the ones who don’t deserve it and do not feed me with that it gets better bullshit because my life seems a guaranteed eternal sadness and I seem to be despised because all I ever do is get hurt when I have not done any sort of malice to anyone but it doesn’t matter anymore, I am just so tired that I want to close my eyes and end this nightmare of a life where depression consumes my body and soul. 

Day 3: For the boy with the gorgeous brown eyes 

At least that’s what I perceived you as when I first saw you; the boy with the beautiful brown eyes and dark hair. Through those eyes I wonder what you perceived me as. I concluded that I was merely a girl that was always around your friends to you.A few weeks ago, a friend of mine had said something that stuck out to me. They told me that I was infatuated with living my life as a character from a novel. In other words, I am so invested in my writing that I create a person’s for myself based on who I desire to be instead of who I truly am. 

Does this mean I was ever dishonest to you? No, for I was only dishonest to myself for a few months. I allowed one guy from my past whom is the influence of my many stories and trust issues impact me in such a way that I developed a mindset that I could become a man-eater that could have a one night stand on a Saturday night, then be onto the next by Sunday. No strings attached. Move along. 

Perhaps, this vicious, cold man-eater is what you viewed me as. I gave you that one cold, December night, then shoved you away and went on about my life.

All it took, however, was that one night with you to realize that was not me at all. What ensued for those following months was attempts at hookups that failed so bad I would flake just before I could even meet them in person. Perhaps it was also the fact that I did not want to become the victim of an online murder story or obtain a disease, but I also knew I could not have meaningless sex, for I only desired to sleep with someone of value as opposed to feeding into my temptations with someone who I could care less about what their name is or what their hopes and dreams are. It’s just who I am, and no amount of liquor consumed or weed in my lungs could change that.  

Why then, was it you? Why had I allowed myself to go as far as it did as backing out as I did to any other male? Why had my mind always trailed back to you, and why had I desired to speak to you when I knew that I had come off as a user in your eyes? Why did my heart skip a beat when I saw your name or when you called me beautiful and spoke as sweetly to me as any other guy did? 

Why, the answer was in silver lining that I attempted to blind myself from; I caught feelings for you. 

I convinced myself that I was confusing list for genuine feelings. This, however, was not true. 

Considering the outcome, I would say that pouring my feelings out to you is worthless. We already established that a romance will not bud out of this and my god how I wish that I could flip a switch and turn off these feelings that came to be bigger than I had hoped. How I wish that my memories of that night became as foggy as the clouds of smoke we puffed. How I wish that stupid little things like pineapple on pizza or ridiculous stoner movies on Netflix didn’t trigger my thoughts of you. How I wish I could talk to you and only feel platonic feelings as you do with me or anytime I saw you I didn’t have the urge to kiss you. How I wish that I didn’t feel more jealous than I am willing to admit at the thought of you with another girl. How I wish I could have believed that you had nothing but ill intentions with me just so I could let go. 

I nearly compared you to that one guy who took advantage of me years ago, yet that was unfair. You are not him, and you are not accountable for my agonizing past. You have hurt me yet none of it was anywhere near as cruel as what he had done to me. I only wish you had made your decision before that warm April night where we were intimate once more which caused my feelings to grow. 

Regardless, however, I have no regrets with what happened between us. Perhaps being intimate with you was what I had desire all along and the feelings were developing from the moment I first met you in person, yet I ignored them because you being attracted to me seemed so surreal.

I only wish such strong feelings didn’t develop from those nights, and that I didn’t look at you and find you so damn attractive. I wish I could believe that you used me and led me on as I have been warned so that these feelings would go away, and that I wasn’t so darn kind-hearted that I saw the good in everyone. I wish I didn’t hold all of this and the tears in just so that I don’t appear so vulnerable to you, and instead express my feelings in this prose. I wish that I did not embrace these feelings or have the desire to be in arms when we have already established that a relationship will not do either of us any good. 

I wish that feelings could be controlled and that this all didn’t hurt so damn much.   

-Lisa Marie Wolf 

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

 

 

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

 

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.