How does someone else look at me and tell me what I deserve? and

Then proceed to demand what they think I deserve, on my behalf.

Don't get me wrong... I love my close knit, overprotective, sometimes bitchy but usually harmless circle of chicas. But there are certain things that I genuinely don't know how to tolerate, and one of them is when you tell me what I deserve and what I should demand.

I hate to sound like a secretive bitch, but I like to keep stuff to myself. I don't really know how to talk to people about how I feel about the serious stuff, and I like to steal away for time by myself. The introvert in me still struggles to appreciate the tight circle I have.

I don't think there's a single one of my friends who can genuinely say they know everything about me. So when you proceed to exclaim that you "know exactly how I feel", I get frustrated.

But to take it a step further, you want to tell me that this boy most certainly isn't worth my time and doesn't deserve me. I deserve better.

You don't know what I deserve at all. Neither do I. And you can't tell me what is or isn't worth my time - the fact that I'm willing to give this thing, whatever it is, a try means that I do indeed find it valuable enough to be worth my time.

Support me, as my friends. Or know that your opinion has been filed away into "thanks, but no thanks" piles to be disregarded at a later date. I love you, but you can't tell me who to invest my time and energy into.

You can't complain about what doesn't even bother you. How does that make sense? If it's affecting me, and I don't complain then how do you look on from the outside and complain? It just doesn't seem right.

I appreciate that you think that you should let this bother you, because it should and even might be bothering me... but you don't have to attack anybody. You calmly state your side and then sit your ass down and be a friend. Whatever that means. I'm sorry you're hurting because you think I'm hurting, but I haven't asked you to take up my cross and carry. I haven't asked you to absorb my hurts, my feelings. That's ridiculous.

So don't complain about what I accept.

Yours in solitude in suffering,
me.

I never ever doubt my ability to make a huge ass mess out of everything I touch... and

I'm tired of crying.

There's nobody to blame but me.

I just don't know how to allow myself to be happy. I'm so scared of someone breaking me, that I don't realize I'm breaking myself. The only person who is hurting me, is me. When I push away every single person who gets close enough to give a fuck about me.

I think I've chewed off an entire layer of my bottom lip and listened to every single song on the Paradise album and I spent two hours buried in bed trying to shake out enough crap out of my head that I could get some sleep.

Words, unfortunately, are failing me. Not just expressing myself here and now, but today's just been ridiculous. I seem to possess only two extremes. I'm either really bad or really good. I bounce from babble and giggle and sing and twirl to distant and solemn and silent and absent, and right back again. I'm all bounced out and I still can't find a balance.

My happy feels fake. My sad feels dramatic.

I feel like I exist in a simple state - like a switch. I can only ever be on or off. Every child has tried to balance a switch between on and off, but it isn't possible. There's no middle state. It's on. Or off.

I was talking to a friend today, about how much I just can't stand touch lately. I don't think it's ever been this bad. I just... don't like when people hug me, or hold my hand, or even stand close enough to brush against me, when they lean against me, when they rest on me. It's not that I hate it, but lately it's been making me jumpy. I cringe away from people. I shudder. I grimace.

So now, I'm not just afraid of emotional proximity. I'm afraid of physical proximity too.

But the scariest part, is that I want him to hug me. I want him to hold me, and tell me silly bullshit about how I'm being ridiculous and I'm making mountains out of molehills and I need to calm down, sleep at night, eat decent meals and stop beating up on myself. I want him everywhere.

It's frigging terrifying.

Yours with words failing,
me.

(This hasn't even been double checked for errors. Apologies in advance. I don't know where my ability to express myself has gone. Maybe it's time to get back into poetry.)

The thing about liquor is, if I'm drowning in it then I'm. not. okay. and

Right now, I'm sinking fast.

I can feel the whiterumorangadetropicanabluegatorade sloshing around in my tummy, and this is so very bad. So so so very bad.

I'm a good girl, a smart girl, a strong girl.

I know when to stop.

But I'm not okay, and I'm tired of being not okay. How did I dive so hard, get so far and fall so fast? When did I tell myself that it was okay to be bare, be naked, in front of someone else? Since when did trusting someone come so easily? My human instinct of self preservation is telling me I've screwed up.

I really really really like this boy, and it feels right but I know it's wrong.

Because I'm a smart girl. I'm a strong girl. I'm a good girl. I know better. I don't need anybody who thinks I'm funny, and wants to stay up with me all night talking about absolutely nothing. I don't need someone to listen to my stupid childhood stories, and share their favourite songs with me (Ode to a Dream by the Internet is still a really weird song but you get fifty billion cool points for loving Lana del Rey). I most certainly don't need someone I can spend all day talking to. I don't need someone to make plans around, someone I want to be with me when I go out. I don't need someone I choose over doing work. I don't need someone.

But I really like you. (And I'm tempted to use the other L word, but I don't play with that and feelings aren't a joke, so I'm not quite sure what's happening but it isn't safe.) I like how you try to be too cool to be phased by anything (trust me though, that's a hard facade to keep up). I like how you smile. I like how you insist on leaning on me, even though we both almost end up tumbling. I like how you call me nicknames like it's natural, like you've been doing it forever. I like our stupid lame broadback, pink liver inside jokes. I like how you send me to bed when it's getting too late, and how you say goodnight. I like how you're not scared to joke around with me; how you force me to take a joke, how you force me to like myself more. I like you don't take me very seriously at all.

Most of all, I like how you don't seem to resent the speed we've moving at. The only speed I know how.

I really like you, and that scares me.

Most terrified and infatuated and quite possibly sorta intoxicated (by you),
me.