Tag Archives: expression

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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 4: For my Ex-Best Friend/Ex-Boyfriend

There is one lyric that describes the relationship we shared perfectly.
“Maybe our relationship isn’t as crazy as it seems, maybe that’s what happens when a tornado meets a volcano…”
-“Love the Way You Lie” by Eminem ft. Rihanna
That was us, always facing tension, always trying to best each other at self-destructive behavior, always at each other’s throats. Yet I would be lying if I said I regretted a second of it.

You were there for me at the darkest point of my life. A time where my heart was in the hands of a boy who crushed it with his bare hands and when I lost someone I loved so dearly you were the first who I dialed because I knew you would go beyond the “aw that sucks” that everyone else said. You pushed me away from the platform edge when I was tempted to jump in front of a train last year and unknowingly saved my life. You gave me a shoulder to cry on when affection was the last thing I wanted. You taught me how to embrace acting childish and not be humiliated about it. You listened to all of my troubles and doubts and didn’t chastise me for being upset at you. You made our last day as boyfriend and girlfriend worth remembering and you continued to protect me from a distance even after we broke up. You proved you genuinely liked me for me and not just for what was under my clothes. Most of all, you were the first person to ever make me comfortable with being my real self and you showed me genuine care, which is very rare nowadays. 

Even the littlest of things you did, I cherished. You had the ability to make me happy that I could care less whether or not we were window shopping or watching movies just so long as I was with you. You got me to sit down and watch all three hours of Titanic in one sitting, you bought me chocolates when I underwent one of the most tragic moments of my life, you got me into movies such as Back to the Future or even movies I hated such as Jaws, you accompanied me to seeing my all-time favorite movie, The Breakfast Club, when it was in movies last year, you got me into binge-watching Friends when I despised the series at first, you helped me gain friends by introducing me to your own friends who are some of the most amazing friends one can ask for, you would make your way to spend as much time as possible with me every day. Even the things we did together and memories shared when we were just friends, such as when you brought me home when I got injured or when we were male and female lead in a play together, were significant to me. I can go on and on about all of our beautiful memories, but point is, whether we were listening to music on the subway at ten ‘o clock at night, or wandering around Central Park, or exploring that toy store you loved working at, I appreciated every moment of it. My two favorites were that night after your show where we shared our first kiss and that day by the Hudson River last night where we made it official. 

We were just like a movie where no matter what the girl and guy always find each other. Where the guy pines after the girl and it takes a year of her paying mind to other assholes before she realizes what’s been under her nose the whole time. Or that movie where the guy and girl break up but somehow in the end they always find each other and end up living happily ever after. We were like Ross and Rachel where no matter how much tension there was between us we always wound up in each other’s life whether romantically or not. 

Except, despite the story of us reflecting to that of a movie, it did not end as every rom-com does. In regards to our relationship, there is no rekindling of our relationship or hopes of reunion. 

I remember you once told me to stop focusing my attention on the negative and start looking more at the positive side of things and for that reason I have only posted the positive side of our relationship throughout this.

Still that doesn’t excuse you leaving me alone on the train in one of my most vulnerable moments of my life and excusing yourself for it. Nor does it excuse all tee tears you caused me to shed and your accusations of me getting upset at little things that were only little things to you. It doesn’t excuse you growing irritated with me when I could barely catch my breath enough to speak nor how you lied me into tagging along with your family to Coney Island then failing to understand why I was frustrated with you when we wound up just walking for hours and hours. It doesn’t excuse what you did to my sister at the family dinner or how you humiliated me in front of my family. It doesn’t excuse you for failing to accept that I was not religious as I attempted to accept your Christianity or dragging me to church. It doesn’t excuse the emotional pain you put me through when you demanded a break after only two months of dating and how you found any excuse to drag me to church when that was not my way of life. It doesn’t excuse your condescending attitude of yours or when you would act different in the face of another person and didn’t defend me against her poor treatment toward me, nor does it excuse your attitude when it all blew up that night where we released all our repressed negative thoughts to each other on the phone after I showed you support at a show you were in and wound up in tears yet again.  

Yet when I remember what we once had, those are not the only memories I focus on, but rather the ones that bring a smile to my face and remember that you were worth it. That when it comes to us, I regret nothing. I am happy that I was blessed at one point with a friend and with a relationship with someone such as you who allowed me to be more courageous in being who I really am and help me get in touch with my little kid side again. 

Sometimes I wish that we could rekindle our friendship. The romantic feelings have faded away yet it doesn’t mean the platonic love I had for you hasn’t. I still sometimes find myself wondering how you are doing, despite everything and despite my wishes that you just stay away from me. I sometimes wish I could just call you up or text you and we could just talk the night away like we once did and turn to each other in a crisis. That is not, however, the path life chose for us and reality hits me that the relationship we once had is all in the past. The tensions that have developed between us has prevented us from ever viewing each other in the same light again. 

I hope when you remember us not in that negative light, however, but rather as I do with my first relationship from years ago. I hope that you know my feelings were genuine and that I enjoyed every second as much as you did. I hope you live with no regrets and know it was not meant to be. I hope you know I wished to never hurt you with what I had done after we stopped talking. I hope your perception of me has not changed as mine had not of you and that when you look back at our memories, you will still have a smile on your face. I hope you know I will always care for you as you do me and wish nothing but happiness for you. I hope that as you grow and mature you find someone who will make you happy one day, because you deserve it. 
-Lisa Marie Wolf

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 

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.

 

 

 

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. 

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?