Today was shitty. However, thanks to a very amazing friend, tonight was spectacular. Despite his efforts to deny the truth, I owe him a whole lot for inviting me into his home and giving me a good talking to, along with a cup of tea to wash it down with. It was hard to swallow, I can honestly say that. But I did it, and I'm going to make it past this. Unfortunately, I need to realize that I'm going to have many more of these days. Complete and utter hell, caused by a boy (again) or the canceling of my favorite television show or the death of the cat that I'm so set on having in the future. It simply inevitable, I can't escape it and even if I could, I wouldn't. Why? Because I couldn't, and I really shouldn't. I learn so much every time my heart is shattered into a million little pieces. For starters, I gain the knowledge on how to mend it back together. Whether it's a bucket of ice cream paired with a sappy movie or a salty hurricane to give Katrina a run for it's money, or even a trip to a St. Steven's castle; it'll be recorded and remembered. For every great tragedy there's a heroic story behind the reconstruction. Or at least, there should be.
Now as I sit here, in my sweats and one of the most comfortable shirts I own, I'm at ease and yet still on my guard. Although my hair's disheveled, tears are caked on my face and my bruise is shining like there's no tomorrow (pun intended), I'm beautiful though I definitely don't look it. I have two of the most understanding parental figures that I could ever wish for, and for that I'm thankful. (Two out of three, it could be worse) I'm nestled in my room; four jigsaw walls, a hot cross window and a flimsy door. It's my haven, my shelter, my retreat, and although it's cluttered and absent of all things Ikea, it's home. Which is much more than loads of people I know could say. I have a roof over my head, two figures who worry themselves to death when I sneak off into the night, elegance and logic. What more could I ask for? ...Wait, don't answer that if you know what's good for you, please.
It's no secret! If I was guaranteed a wish come true, you all know what I would choose. No, not a lifetime supply of tea. No, not a day in the life of Emily Haines. No, not fifty more wishes. (Though it wouldn't hurt to try) I would wish for love. Real, true love. I know it exists and I'm destined to find it. I want it more than anything else, the whirlwind romance and knight in shining armour to sweep me off my feet. What female on the face of this earth doesn't? Okay, that might be a bit broad, but really. It's always been a fantasy of mine, and it looks like it won't become anything else anytime soon. Plus, I'm a Pisces, a natural dreamer and a true romantic at heart. It's in my blood to love and be loved in return. Why is it then, has fate veered me off of love's course? I'm sick of being lonely and I want someone to hold me for God's sakes. Can I make it any more blunt? I highly doubt it. Every male specimen I choose to hold dear to my heart has mercifully ripped it to shreds. Not so much as a single flutter be the only reaction I stir up in theirs. Sure, I'll fancy them like mad, but I'm just a blip to them. A faceless, worthy-of-affectionless, meaningless blip. This has happened how much now? Too many times to count. Too many boys lost but never forgotten to even bother, some even repeated the process. It's painstakingly obvious why they're called crushes; and my heart, soul and mind are fed up of the abuse they're enduring. I should really wait though, that's the thing. I just can't! I'm impatient, and at the very end of the stick. If only I could give up on this whole procedure altogether. Ha, what a joke. It's basically the only thing I think about from the dreadful moment of awakening to the last threads of conscienceness before I drift off into sleep. And even then...It continues in my dreams, as unrealistic as they may be. What is it that makes me so unappealing? If it's the thought that I'm a lonely desperado, (meaning I'm willing to throw myself at the next boy who does as much as talks to me) then that's poppycock and that thought should be immediately discarded. Sure, I crave human interaction as much as any other hormone-ridden teenager, but I'd rather develop a relationship and get to know someone thoroughly first. I'd like to discover their flaws and love every one of them to bits, even though secretly they drive me insane. I'd want to unearth secrets and be able to confide mine to this person, in a give-and-take trusting relationship. I'd rather be completely honest and frank than step around the cracks and be anyone but myself. I'd envision myself as being confident and reliable, always there and always experiencing the 'falling in love jitters' that I've pictured ever so often. It feels almost as if I need the tingles and shocks of being close to someone I adore. So what is it then? Am I really that physically unattractive? Do I turn off the opposite sex like I would in an instant to a boring documentary on keyholes in the middle of the afternoon? Is it my confidence and down-to-earth demeanor that repels boys like two magnetic south poles forced together in a pitiful attempt at connection? Is it my fearless and bitchy personality? Is it that I have too much self-esteem and I'm not like every other girl today who hates her self image and wants to lose fifty pounds instantly? (Okay, I know I know that's totally not true. Ya'll ain't fat, don't worry. But it really is ridiculous, this increase in dieting. Give it up, you have your whole life to try to stay thin. Enjoy your youth while you can!) Is it because I'm too unique and I have my own ideas and I'm not afraid to tell you what I think to your face? Is it because I really just do want it this much and I'm willing to scream it to the world? I'm not content with just the idea of love. I want real, true love. I'm probably not going to get it for years to come, but at least I can start with something. I'm not really sure that you understand the enormity of this 'want'. Perhaps you do, but it's big. Gigantic. Monstrous. Oh, look at this babbling. It's hopeless, really, this attempt at a cry for pity. Or whatever you want to call it. I feel so dejected, so wrung out and tossed aside. I'm sure it wouldn't sting so much if I had something to compare it to, like a good feeling. Oh fuck it, I can't believe I actually thought at one point that writing about it would help. If you made it to this point, good on you. I admire your determination. Unless of course, you skimmed through the sea of words to get to the wrap up. In which case, you're a bastard, gtfo my blog.
Maybe it's because I'm bitter, maybe not. I'll probably never know. I've survived junior high with some scars and many tearful nights to remember, and I guess I don't regret any of it. If there's anything that thunderstorms have taught me, it has to be that there's a lesson in everything and I should hold on to it with the tightest grasp I can manage, and to let all of the negativity in my head be zapped away by exploding stars in the night's smoky clouds.
The regular love always, xo just doesn't seem quite fitting today...
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