Even In The Same Town, The Same House, The Same Bed- We Were Always Going To Be In Different Places.

real love is not like the poetry. it is not i love you spat down each other’s throats or finding a reason to live again because you found this one person. It is so much simpler than that. real love is telling them to go back to sleep because it is still early and you know they need it, even if you want them to be awake with you. It’s realizing it won’t always be easy but still choosing them every day and wanting to be the very best for them. that’s it, it’s not as deep as you think.

4am

Me: I really miss my FP

BPD: your FP hates you.

Me: what? no, that's not true

BPD: you miss them. you keep texting, begging for validation, which they provide. you aren't satisfied, you text again. you text some more. you apologize. you're overbearing, annoying. you ask if you're being annoying, which is, in itself, annoying. they hate you.

Me: holy shit you're right im so sorry

BPD: don't apologize that's manipulative

symptoms of trauma are proof of abuse. if you’re struggling with anxiety, self doubt, self hate, low confidence, trauma symptoms, flashbacks, nightmares, paranoia, panic and severe emotional injuries, those are proof enough that you’ve been subjected to torture. your feelings aren’t fooling you, they’re consequences of abuse.

A note to my body

I am sorry.

I have cut you, hit you, and burnt you. I have shoved more food into you than you can handle, jammed my fingers down your throat, and starved you for days until all you can see is stars.

I’ve consumed too much alcohol, too many substances, and exercised you into the ground.

But what I am the most sorry for is that I can’t seem to stop… no matter how much I want to be better for you, I don’t know how to stop this self destruction.

And for that, I am truly sorry

“Now I know I’ve got a heart because it is breaking.”

—

L. Frank Baum

The only reason I can find not to love you is the fact that you don’t love me. And that still doesn’t make it any goddamn easier. It still doesn’t make me any goddamn stronger.

Poetry At Most

“I had a dream that we kissed last night. And suddenly, I prefer sleeping to reality.”

— Dreaming of You (h.c)

“I want to tell him that I don’t know what I feel. I want him but I’m frightened to want him. I don’t want my happiness to be entirely dependent on somebody else’s…”

— Jojo Moyes

“I wish I knew the right words to say when it came down to writing about someone who makes you feel like flowers are growing inside of your chest. I wish I knew how to explain the way you make me feel when it’s two in the morning and we’re both laughing over something that probably wasn’t even that funny but to other people, our laughs make it seem like it was the world. I wish I knew how to tell people just how really beautiful you are, because when you are there, whether you’re laying down or pacing back and fourth, talking about the things that excite you the most, or just about anything in general that makes you happy, your eyes hold a certain kind of light beneath them that makes me want to never look away. Or when you laugh, my god, when you laugh, I never want it to stop because you do this thing where you tilt your head back and cover your mouth at the last moment after you already been so loud, shaking your head and every single time, I’d think, I wouldn’t mind hearing you laugh for the rest of my life. And when you yell, which is very rare, is scary because you can be there, veins standing at attention and I’d still think you’re the most beautiful person I have ever laid eyes on, even if I’m driving you insane. Don’t worry though, you drive me insane too. And I wish I knew how to explain the way my hands shake when I think about losing you, or the way my chest tightens to the thought of you being with someone else who isn’t me, because it messes with my mind sometimes and I get fustrated, because only I want to know your favorite book to the way you hate wearing that poka dot shirt, or how you eat when you’re nervous and can’t seem to stop making a mess. But you always been a messy eater so I don’t mind. I fell in love with you and although you are not perfect because you do have your moments, I promise I will love you again and again and again because I am not perfect either but if I am here, holding my heart out to you, and you are there, doing the same, I swear we both can be non-perfect messes together. And I’m trying not to be too cheesy here, because you always did say I buttered you up too much so for now I’ll leave it off with an I love you and an I’ll love you forever until my very last breath and an I am so lucky you decided to choose me.”

— A.M// to jake, maybe loving you isn’t so bad after all.