words, words, words for thought.

[thebestkindoftherapy]

mostly I just long for someone to sleep next to and make faces at when the people around me say ridiculous things or text stupid shit to when I’m bored and I know that I don’t neeeeeeed a man in my life but like... will this longing ever go away? 

[thebestkindoftherapy]

it may have been fleeting and doomed from the start, but I still miss how your lips felt on mine

you don’t know how good your touch was for me,  in many more ways than one it helped me to see myself in a way I never had before, but in a way I knew I deserved to it’s hard to see you now, and impossible to speak

because I’m pretty sure once your mouth opens, I won’t be able to contain myself 

[thebestkindoftherapy]

I haven’t let myself write about you until now.

This is the closest it’s ever been, and I’m still terrified to do anything about it. There are so many signs, but I’m so tired of trying to decipher them. I’m finally ready for you to be bold, so I can be bold right back. And maybe one day I’ll be ready to make that first move, but not yet.  You are nothing I ever imagined for myself.  In fact, in a lot of ways, you are the complete opposite. But as I should’ve expected, you surprise me every day. The silly faces you make at me remind me of my first real crush and the excitement I would feel anytime he looked at me.  But your faces are better. Cuter. Sillier. Uglier. All at once. When you say my name, or rather, the shortened version of my name, I am reminded of the only other person that consistently called me that. It was the first boy to maliciously break my heart. I always thought it would be a trigger, but you made it comforting. I like the way you’re excited to tell me about new developments in your life. I love that we have a silent language. And we use it all the time.  But most surprisingly to me, I hate that I can’t stop thinking about the water droplets that were on your bare chest when you walked into your bedroom post-shower wearing only your boxier briefs while I was hungover in your bed and entirely too disoriented to do anything but stare at you.  Thank you for brunch.

[thebestkindoftherapy]

There is something entirely different about you, and the effect that you have on me. Every slightly red-hued flag only interests me more. I ignore every sign that points directly to “no.”  I want to see your smile much more often than I do right now. Maybe one day, I’ll get to hear you call me beautiful again, or feel your arms around me for longer than the standard few-second hug. Those parts of you that you don’t like to broadcast to the world; I want to know all of them. You’re going to grow soon, and I would love to witness that, and grow with you. I need someone like you, and you could use someone like me. We would bring out the best in each other. Or the worst. I’m not sure about that part yet,  but I’m willing to risk it; to go through it all to try and find out.  I can’t imagine that your consistent appearance in my dreams is normal.  Even when my body is asleep, it still wants you. 

[thebestkindoftherapy]

Temporary Forever

Most days I am so great, I can’t imagine ever feeling down again. I am present, and enjoying things as they happen, and smiling, genuinely. People’s smiles are sweeter and their words mean more. My chewed-up nails and bruised knees are things I embrace.  I look forward to being busy, and leaving the house, and laughing at the sky. Those days, nothing can touch me, because I’m flying higher than I ever thought I could go.

And then I inevitably let gravity win, and I fall. Slowly, at first. Slowly, and gently, and feeling like I have total control.  But I don’t, really. Not with memories like mine, that play back in my head like a movie I’ve watched thirty times over. Like an episode of my favorite TV Show that I’ve memorized, and can repeat verbatim. Like a quote from my favorite novel, that I’ve written in my notebook so many times, it’s become routine. 

Sometimes it’s words that he said, sometimes it’s the tragedy that I saw, and sometimes it’s the goodbyes I never got to say.  But man, they are etched into my brain as clear and permanent as the tattoo on my wrist. 

[thebestkindoftherapy]

I haven't made nearly enough irresponsible decisions.

The day that the boy I loved said good morning with the words  "I thought about killing myself last night,"  and my best friend told me she had started cutting herself again, were one and the same. That was also the day I started grinding my teeth in my sleep and having frequent anxiety attacks.  Go figure.

My dad used to get depressed whenever I was gone for too long. My mom misses having someone to fight with. My brother isn't fond of being the main focus of attention, and the dog--the dog has no agenda.  In this city of poorly-timed parades, bicyclists galore, an over-the-top street rat night-life,  I found myself, somehow. Somewhere amidst the lack of the letter "r," the cold, yet comforting dispositions, things started to make sense. Now, here I am, painfully self-aware, conscious of the fact that I don't need to be here anymore. Just because this has felt like home for so long, doesn't mean it has to be home forever. I want many homes. I want to find another part of myself, somewhere else. Anywhere else. This one scene in the movie of my life, it's long enough to be summarized in a thirty-second montage, but not quite interesting enough to be the main setting. That's not to say I didn't grow here. I grew. God, I grew,  I grew more than I thought I would ever grow. But I'm not done yet.  There are sunsets, waterfalls, highways that I have yet to enjoy. Beaches, Main Streets, caves that I need to explore. There's people I still need to fall in love with; people who will open my heart and then break it. There is pain I have not felt thus far,  and a certain level of joy I am waiting to encounter. It's unsettling that I feel like I need to be an adult, when I haven't even really let myself be a kid yet.

[thebestkindoftherapy]

I think the title of Richard Carver's story "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love" is one of my favorite order of words I've ever read or heard. Because when we talk about "love," (the general "we," as in society), we aren't actually talking about that feeling, are we? How could we, when it's so utterly indescribable and different each time? When "we" talk about "love," we are talking about what we personally love. Maybe what we see IN the person THAT we love. Maybe we're discussing how we would like to be loved. There's probably some body parts being thrown around or maybe a personality trait. Perhaps the word "happy" is mentioned, in which case, that's an entirely separate feeling altogether. You can feel love and be sad all at once; people do it every second of every day. You can love and be angry, be confused, be excited, be disappointed... You can love and simultaneously feel any and every emotion at the same time. So what are we talking about, when we talk about love? Conceivably, we might be declaring what we wish to find in the person that we may eventually love, or what we hope they find in us. We may voice our opinions on past stories of love, and how ours will be better, and stronger, and happier. The truth is, as far as I know, there is love that is dangerous. There is also love that is incredible and uplifting, and just downright magical. There is love that is in between, upside down, backwards, and inside-out. But there is love. And what more does anyone really need to believe in? 

[thebestkindoftherapy]

Eight years have gone by and I still don't know how to feel around you. I was restless just from the thought of us being in the same room again. So many of my memories are embellished by your words; they still haunt me to this day.

Maybe we'll see each other one day, when I've completely forgotten about how I used to feel your pain and you've repressed the high school version of you; I know you weren't fond of that guy.

I don't like having thoughts based on 'what-ifs' but I've already missed my chance, so it's all I've got.

[thebestkindoftherapy]

I don't cross your mind anymore and you cross mine so much it makes my head spin back and forth between good and evil between love and hate between beautiful and atrocious between brilliant and completely idiotic you were and will always be on either end of the extremes there is no middle ground, no spectrum one day, you were scalding hot and wanted nothing more than a couple of hours with me and then you would freeze me to death for months at a time I don't cross your mind anymore but you will always cross mine.

[thebestkindoftherapy]

the worst kind of predator

up and down, back and forth with the waves my face hot, flushed from the sun my toes cold, wriggling five feet down there’s a certain aura of mystery, not knowing what’s down there the rocking of the tide keeps me calm sure that nothing could hurt me sure that nothing could ruin the bliss nothing could destroy the peace

that’s what it felt like with you for about eight minutes

and then a wave pulled me under you made everything crash I lost control and you took everything back you never said it you didn’t have to

I knew there would always be sharks

but I never thought that I would fall for one

[thebestkindoftherapy]

I remember that he loved edamame. I remember that my first time trying it, we were at that weird little restaurant near Washington Square Park and the whole moment felt very poetic to me. we had gotten lost a few times that day but I never felt scared; not for a second. with promises of back rubs and accidental grazes of his hand, it felt almost like a dream. I suppose it was, and I knew it all along. 

his relationship with his mother intrigued me the most, and yet I know least about it. though it's no surprise that with a role model like that, he never learned how to show that he cared. red hair and tattoos is all he wants in a girl, he says. and where does that leave me; a red head with tattoos and piercings and the soul of a philosophical punk that mirrors his? 

I had believed him, stupidly, when he told me he loved me. he still swears he meant it. but knowing those feelings were there but not actually feeling them was worse than if I had known nothing at all. 

[thebestkindoftherapy]

I'd ask you kiss me,

but you already ruined it by feeling too much

[thebestkindoftherapy]

it's always said that the best writing comes from sadness. but what if that sadness is mirrored with anger? what about when every word that is brought to light by a thought of you only makes me grind my teeth and release burning hot furious tears? I've always felt my best writing comes when I'm passionate and happy and hopeful. you took all of that away. you took it and then you waited 7 months. and then just as my hope was coming back, you felt like you needed forgiveness, and you brought it all back up again. in the end, I don't think you accomplished anything, unless you were trying to break my heart for a second time. I leave you with this: I will not fuck off, and I will never get over myself, because "myself" is someone that is too good for you, always has been and always will be. 

[thebestkindoftherapy]

put your hand in mine

place your head on my shoulder

graze your fingers over my thigh

knock our knees together.

if I can use you as a pillow,

I don't mind being your rock.

an open mind,

an empty heart

all for you to fill.

[thebestkindoftherapy]

why I don't sleep anymore

every dark thought that has ever crossed my mind comes to light

I think of all of the people that I've lost

I remember that one day, I'll lose even more

one face flashes through my head

prompting the recollection that I never said goodbye

another one sits and stirs 

daunting me with the idea of not being able to help

a furry snout tickles my arm

and then I turn and it's just the wind

bringing up thoughts of you unhappy

or forgetting about me

as soon as I tell myself I'm okay

my head barely strokes the pillow

and it starts to infiltrate again

filling me up to the brim

like a club

accepting one fan after another

to just another typical show

on another typical night

just another dark thought

in the dark corner of my bed

[thebestkindoftherapy]

and I don't even know your name

every cliche in the world doesn't even begin to cover it

I've been dancing around you for months

while my heartbeat dances out of rhythm 

my breath gets caught up in my head

and my head floats up to outer space

I know absolutely nothing about you

and yet I feel there's nothing left to learn

[thebestkindoftherapy]

my late nights aren't filled with thoughts of myself

they're filled with dark clouds

they're filled with your blood

the blood you're releasing willingly

they're filled with your pain

the pain you've never expressed with me

they're filled with your panic

the one I've never understood

they're filled with dark, nasty scenarios

when you're not here anymore

because it was all too much for you to take