Mostly writing. Maybe Eggs. Always Coffee.

[4allgoodthings]

[dankmemeuniversity]

[adonischildsupportcase]

[dookiediamonds-deactivated20200]

Lmaoooooooooooooooooo

[justafeweggs]

Why do I even still care?

[justafeweggs]

Just do it.

[justafeweggs]

Something that makes me sad is that I can be more vulnerable and honest on here than I can with the people in my life. Granted, it’s mostly because this is barely a step up from talking to myself, and no one is every really around when I need them. So I’m pretty good at talking to myself.

[justafeweggs]

I hate that I miss her so much.

[justafeweggs]

Why is it always the hardest to let go of the person who hurt you the most?

[justafeweggs]

I talked to her. She told me she loves me. I haven’t been this happy in a while, low key...

[justafeweggs]

I read this book when I was younger about a woman who cried her tear ducts dry. I can’t remember the name of the book right now, but I’m pretty sure it’s still at my parents house. It was about a girl who’s mother had a mental breakdown during her birthday and ended up being hospitalized for a while as a result.

I never forgot that part of the book because I kind of picked up that a lot of the reason for the breakdown was her strained relationship with the girls father, amongst other things. I was probably about 14 when I read it, so it made me consider what it was to care for someone so deeply that something like that could happen. But then around then, I also started to notice the dynamics between my parents more, as I was coming to the age of relationships and finding my sexuality.

And then I met her. And I found out what it was like to need to cry so deeply for a person, out of love, out of pure pain...

I’ve always possessed a strong sense of empathy, to the point of clairvoyance. I’ve always been so sensitive to the world that I knew I was better off alone. And then I met a person who knew exactly what it was to feel that way, to need to shut off the world for the sake of self preservation.

I knew I loved her instantly, but that I could never let it be. She knew she loved me instantly, and that I had to be hers. It’s funny how things turn out. I’ve never needed to cry for someone like my soul cries for hers. Cries out for hers, screams and begs from the abyss that it plunged itself into just for that one glance from her. I’d forgive every transgression if I could just be hers again. I know it’s stupid, but she’s my drug of choice.

But we go about our pain in different ways. I’ve been grieving her new girlfriend, despite the fact that I’ve had mine for months now. She’s the one who told me, who let me cry in her arms multiple times to grieve. Who checks for me in the middle of the night to make sure I’m okay. She understands my emotions in the way I’ve always wished my girlfriend would. But she’s not you. She’ll never be you. Deep down, I think she knows. We love each other, but I’m afraid for how long.

I miss her. I miss you. But I can’t. Not now. So I lurk from afar, like I’m sure you do too. I think to leave messages for me, but I can’t ever be too sure. I highly doubt they are.

I need to stop before I cry again...

[justafeweggs]

“You’re mine, I just lend you out to other people...”

Why can’t I get you out of my head...

[6i]

you can break and heal at the same time. they forget to tell you that.

[justafeweggs]

All I want is to be able to exist in my own space without having it encroached upon, but respecting boundaries is something people only do for the ‘gram.

I can’t even sit on my own couch and edit photos because of someone not respecting my boundaries. I can’t get comfortable in my own bed, or even request time alone in my own space because of people refusing to respect boundaries.

And they wonder why I pull away. And they wonder if they’ve over stayed welcomes when the answer is clearly they have, or else they wouldn’t even have to wonder.

I don’t ask for much from people, but it still seems as if the small things I do ask for are too much for people to give, if only because it conflicts with their constantly self-serving issues. I don’t care how much I’m supposed to care or love anymore. If my boundaries, my simple space boundaries, cannot be respected then don’t expect shit from me.

I’m over it.

[justafeweggs]

After almost a decade of not using them, Oxford commas almost drive me nuts.

[justafeweggs]

He knows the reasons I should and deserve to be upset. What's killing him is the fact that I'm not, and that I'm more remorseful than he deserves.

[justafeweggs]

I have so many notebooks it makes me happy. That may seem like such a simple statement to some, but as a writer it means everything. Blank, full and in between, each notebook has its own story and exists as a piece of the puzzle to mine. When I was younger, I used to get scolded for the amount of notebooks I had. But at the same time, I was simultaneously rewarded for and with them because of my writing abilities. Notebooks are the symbol of my growth and sometimes even battles with writing, the changing of the times, penmanship and my overall voice. But nothing makes me happier than the blank ones, the promises that a new page brings. It's a positive assault to my senses, from the gloss of a fresh page to the smells of the different kinds of paper and bindings. You could say that I have an equivalent love affair with pens, but there's something about the way ink stains my skin that kind of makes them lose points, if only slightly. It's almost funny that this prose is expressed digitally instead of IN one of the many new and used notebooks I have, but maybe -- in its own way -- expressing this digitally helps to preserve the integrity of each notebook, all the while integrating the analogy sensory experience with the virtual. Actually, I like the sound of that. I'll go with it.

[justafeweggs]

I wanted a virtual journal. I doubt I'll really share it. I need my space.