Tag Archives: pain

The One That Got Away

Nothing this week went as expected. 

 It was supposed to be a week of parties and celebration. Yet somehow, everything went south so quickly. 

Being really sick, Arguments, a terrorist attack happening right near my job, and broken promises. 

My 22nd birthday was on Wednesday. I had planned to be taken out by my boyfriend and yesterday have a party. Wednesday itself was not a bad day. I went to work, then went out with my boyfriend. Except something blew out and now he is not my boyfriend anymore. 

I have experienced plenty of breakups and fallouts in my lifetime because I didn’t just lose a boyfriend, I lost a best friend too. Someone who knew more about me more than anyone else. Someone who I knew every side of. Or at least I thought I did, I didn’t expect that he would dump me on the day of my birthday party, just two days after my birthday and on one of the worst weeks I have had in a long time. 

I keep blaming myself. I keep thinking of what I could have done different so that he’d still be mine. I feel like I could have been a better girlfriend and that I overreacted too often to many things. I keep blaming myself for everything going wrong, simply because that’s what happens when you get left behind. 

Except I did change a lot for him. I did do everything I could for him. As cliche as it sounds, everything I did in the past year I did it for him. Everything I became and everything I did was all for him. 

And now he’s gone. 

Everyone always leaves me. I’ve lost most friends in 2017 than I can count on both hands, yet losing him stung the hardest because he was everything to me. I loved him harder than I had loved anyone else, and he taught me what being in love was really about. I still love him deeply. That’s why I can’t even trash talk him, because I care too much to do such. In just a year and four months we developed into a couple that overcame so much together. Things were far from perfect the past month, but I genuinely believed we could work through it. I knew things weren’t easy for him, so I kept doing my best to bear with him and stay by his side, knowing that he needed someone there. Even when we argued the other day, I stood by believing that he and I would get through it because that was us. We were always there for each other and always made it through the worst of times. I had considered leaving before, but put it aside because in my eyes he was always worth it. 

I’m still in love with him, and I still keep blaming myself. Even with my friends kind words when I went to my birthday party last night, which he dumped me before and I spent the whole night breaking into tears wishing he was there. It was supposed to be my night where everything finally came together

People may think I’m ridiculous for posting this, but I still am trying to figure out what happened and why it had to happen this way. I still keep trying to figure out how just a week ago he was at an Open Mic supporting me and now a week later he’s gone. I’m still mourning the loss of someone who meant more to me than any person I been with, someone who was there for me during my Worst, who supported me when I was hospitalized earlier this year, who would make his way to meet up with me the nights I get out of work late, who influenced me to change all my bad habits, who spent his last dollars on me and who saved up just to take me out just the other day, who would spend every weekend with me and take me to every party, who would hold me in the midst of breakdowns and talk me up whenever I put myself down, and who never judged me, who just two weeks ago promised he’d never leave me. 

He’s gone. He’s gone and even if he said it was goodbye I’m still doing my best to face the reality of it. Some would say he’s just a guy and not worth it, but he’s meant so much more to me. Dammit, he still does. 

But he’s gone. He’s gone and with every tear I shed and every pain in my chest I wish he was here, like he always was, to hold me and comfort me. 

I believed he was the one, but he’s the one that got away…



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.


“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.

Day 2: For My First Love

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

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

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

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

We were perfect.

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

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

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

-Lisa Marie Lupo


Can You Tell Me

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

Yet, can you tell me who she is?

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


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 1

Usually, when you think of your first heartbreak, you think of an ex or a former love. You never expect your first heartbreak, your first disappointment, the first guy to hurt you to be a family member.

Heartbreaks don’t have to be based on romance in my eyes. They could involve betrayal and agony caused by someone you love dearly in a non-romantic way. When this person is someone close to you, someone you have loved with all your heart since the day you were born, someone you looked up to as a role model, the pain that they cause could very well count as heartbreak. A heartbreak is derived from someone who you loved but they let you down.

That is exactly what this person did. I loved this person with all my heart and still do, but he still let me down immensely.

When I was a child, he was the first man I loved. He introduced me to so many things and places, he spoiled me and he seemed to be the only person to understand me. In a world where I was bullied and a loner, he was always there for me. If I ever felt down I would remember that I was his little princess. All of my childhood memories consist of him. Him taking me to parks, to his workplace, going on school trips, and taking me around the city. We would have our own special days where I would take off from school and him from work just to spend time together. Every year we would go to this nice vacation spot in New Jersey where we would go to the beach and go on the rides. He always stuck up for me and went out his way to make sure I was happy. We just had that bond, which is rare with most of my family. I idolized this man so much that not once did his flaws become apparent to me.

Even when he made women cry, or when he would break things out of anger, or when he lashed out, I still saw him as perfect. He was so good to me and he never got physical with anyone so I thought nothing was wrong. Just like how I learned from this man the different parts of the city or about great musicians and how trees live long lives, I learned how to express anger the wrong way.

Obviously now I know it’s wrong, but with me being a child back then, I didn’t know any better. I assumed that he knew best. I tried to follow his footsteps in every way even if I began to notice he was becoming more and more alone and that his mistreatment toward people wasn’t fair.

I’ll now fast forward to when I was fourteen. By this time he and I would still spend time together from time to time but there was also a good distance between us. At this time I was a teenager and already he had stopped carrying me around and calling me princess, and rightfully so because I was fourteen and that wasn’t him. This story will not include any sexual or physical abuse because he never did any of that. There is verbal abuse, which hurts just as much, but that’s for later.

Anyway, I noticed for years that he began to let himself go. He stopped taking care of himself physically and that worried me. He also stopped going out and dropped one of his best friends out of the blue. He and his friend went all the way back to childhood and in my earliest memories he would go over to his friend’s house a lot and they would talk on the phone for hours. We would go over to his house just to watch boxing or hang out in New Jersey. The fact that he dropped this friend without any warning or argument seemed sketchy.

Since I loved him so much even though we were growing apart, I tried to talk to him. I tried to keep that bond going but it wasn’t the same. Gone were the days where he would take me out, gone were the days of conversation, gone were the days of sharing his intelligence with his little did-you-know’s. He lived with me, yet I saw him less. He spent more time alone in a room than with anyone. Going out with him was having my headphones on and praying he wouldn’t lash out or make a crude joke about someone. Conversations were just him making fun of people, which became a bore once I grew older and wanted serious talks and advice. His jokes became disturbing to me. When I came to him for advice, I would get mocked or ignored. A thought began to haunt me. What if he wasn’t perfect but rather an overly angry man who mistreated people and had a childish mindset? What if he had serious issues I overlooked because I was so blinded by my childhood perception of him? I was so fixated on the idea that he was perfect. Looking back now, I realize there was so many red flags to prove he wasn’t.

When this realization came over me, I was devastated. This was like finding out that your boyfriend who you have been with for a long time wasn’t who you thought he was but ten times worse because this was someone I knew all my life. I wasn’t ready to accept who he really was. I refused to let go of hope that he would become the man I saw him as when I was a kid. Sadly, that wasn’t the real him and I learned the hard way that once you see someone’s true colors, there is no going back. When I tried to talk to him, he dismissed it and told me he didn’t care about himself anymore. This disturbing comment, though I didn’t understand it as depression at the time, told me he wasn’t okay and that there was nothing I could do but watch the man I love fall apart and turn into a complete stranger.

One of my worst experiences with him took place in mid-2012. He, for a long while, was feeling sick and had pains in his body. Him being him, he ignored the pain until it became too unbearable. Then one night in August 2012, I was about to perform opening night for this play I was in at the time. After the show, I was informed that he was rushed to the hospital. While I was doing final rehearsals and my makeup, he decided he couldn’t take the pain anymore and rushed to the hospital. Naturally, I cried and cried. I visited him and saw him as vulnerable as can be for the first time ever. The man who I viewed as strong and flawless was lying on a bed in a hospital, too weak to speak and connected to IVs. He was hiccupping and far from himself. I tried to stay strong but I ended up running to the bathroom to break down.

What he had was called diverticulitis. It’s a disease in your colons caused by the consumption of too much unhealthy crap like fried foods and lack of fiber. The diverticulitis kept him in the hospital for two months. Excluding one week where he was sent home because he believed he was cured. He ended up facing sickness and unbearable pain again. I visited him twice but couldn’t get myself to anymore after a while. At one point they had to keep him isolated because he developed something contagious which was even scarier.

Despite undergoing a good amount of weight loss and going through a terrifying two months at the hospital, he still failed to take care of himself. I was sickened to watch what he had become and I still cry for him but at some point I quit trying to push him to take care of himself. I only hurt myself in the process and they do say that you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. I mean at least I can say that I tried.

Over the years he has gotten worse. Not just health-wise, which I won’t even talk about because it’s too unpleasant, but also in regards to the fact that his insults have gotten worse. He uses words to hurt the whole family. He would try and defend me. If he made me cry or insulted me for things like my depression he would apologize and blame it on having a hard day at work or something. I would think about it and compare it to abuse. Even if he has never hit or beaten any of us and there has been no sexual abuse involved, it’s still abuse. Eventually the apologies stopped because I stopped defending him. He began to see that I was no longer the naïve little girl that sided with his abuse. I would always feel pity for him and still do. I will always love him, but I can only do it from a distance. I long to be able to spend another day with him or be able to turn to him for advice without him judging me or acting cold. I long for him to start taking care of himself because even if he doesn’t care I do. I long to have that image of a happy loving family I’ve always had in my head with my parents, my sister, and I fulfilled. But the more time passes the more I realize that it’s never going to happen.

I can pray, I can beg, I can hope all I want. He’ll never go back to who he once was. That strong, perfect man I once knew is gone and he’s developed into someone I don’t know. All I’m left with is these memories of who he once was that hurts too much to think about. What hurts even worse than anything he says to put me down is the reality that he will never be the man I once knew again.

All for Pleasure

All for pleasure.

All for those warm, soft lips that were like a drug to me. All for the enticement I felt with each gentle touch against my delicate skin. All for the feel of your stubbly face in between my thighs and your tongue on my breasts. All for the sound of your moans that I craved to hear. All for the intoxicating intimacy I felt when I had your body on top of mine and inside of me. The brief moments where we are one and connect in ways that were unknown to me. All for the taste of your cum, the reward derived from satisfying both our lustful desires. All for the cuddling and pure ecstasy that ensued.

All for feeling wanted and obtaining the affection I lacked all my life. All for momentary satisfaction with each thrust and lick. All for the beauty of exposure. All for feeding into cravings and urges. All for how much euphoria I felt having my chubby, repulsive body wanted by someone. All for hearing how beautiful I am. All for the feel of contributing to someone’s satisfaction.

Risking ourselves. Risking our emotions. Risking falling too deep. Risking causing others pain.

All for pleasure.