After this, I'm Normal.
Ignorance is putting your hand in a flame because you don't know it will burn you.
Stupidity is doing it again.
I have been burned more than I realized. I have been burned so bad I think there is a scar and it isn't going away. Why did I let myself get this far? I've lived half of this past year in my head. If you were in my shoes, then maybe you would understand why this is so hard for me. But you're not, so I can't expect you to understand. I should the thankful that you're at least sympathetic, and not annoyed (though maybe you are annoyed and you just didn't wish to mention that part to me). But your sympathy tears a hole in my chest, because I don't want to be the type of person that has something in her life that make people sympathetic.
My mom found me in my room crying this morning, typing out the beginning of this journal. I had to lie to her to tell her why I was crying. It wasn't a complete lie, but she doesn't know that I'm crying because of memories that really happened, not ones that I made up in my head. I told her that I miss you, and that was why I was crying. And I'm sitting here now, knowing that there is really no other reason. I miss you. I miss the guy you were when I first met you. When you got the ball for me out of the pond during mini-golf. When you kept me company in New York in the late hours of the night for me (afternoon for you). I miss every standstill moment where I thought everything was going to be okay. I miss the feeling of knowing that you wanted more from me than just this body. That feeling was few and far between.
Was it all in my head?
I'll never stop having questions, but we'll see how long I can stop asking them.
I love you anyway.
Stupidity is doing it again.
I have been burned more than I realized. I have been burned so bad I think there is a scar and it isn't going away. Why did I let myself get this far? I've lived half of this past year in my head. If you were in my shoes, then maybe you would understand why this is so hard for me. But you're not, so I can't expect you to understand. I should the thankful that you're at least sympathetic, and not annoyed (though maybe you are annoyed and you just didn't wish to mention that part to me). But your sympathy tears a hole in my chest, because I don't want to be the type of person that has something in her life that make people sympathetic.
My mom found me in my room crying this morning, typing out the beginning of this journal. I had to lie to her to tell her why I was crying. It wasn't a complete lie, but she doesn't know that I'm crying because of memories that really happened, not ones that I made up in my head. I told her that I miss you, and that was why I was crying. And I'm sitting here now, knowing that there is really no other reason. I miss you. I miss the guy you were when I first met you. When you got the ball for me out of the pond during mini-golf. When you kept me company in New York in the late hours of the night for me (afternoon for you). I miss every standstill moment where I thought everything was going to be okay. I miss the feeling of knowing that you wanted more from me than just this body. That feeling was few and far between.
Was it all in my head?
I'll never stop having questions, but we'll see how long I can stop asking them.
I love you anyway.