I just realized I literally left this account alone, and then came back gay
I feel accomplished, somehow
~*Racism is alive and well and is so well liked and rich that it has thousands of summer homes and mansions to vacation in*~
Debating on what sort of writing/how much writing I should upload here. I may be followed by (x) people, but on tumblr it's more likely that it won't even be looked at, and I'm fine with that. Somehow this feels less open.
It's odd; sometimes "something" will come up and tear you down, even if it's only for a few hours. After that, the instinct may be to hold it in for as long as possible. When it spills out, there's nothing you can do but let it go (why yes, I have seen Frozen).
His entire manner had been confusing; why was he so embarrassed about giving a name that was not my own? Or maybe he was just an idiot who didn't see the signs? Probably. In either instance his reaction was preposterous; after admitting that he was interested in someone, he asked another girl for advice, not knowing (or worse, not caring) that she had liked him since day one.
Of course I panicked. I wasn't ready to let people in; if, perchance he was talking about me, how would I feel? In some ways the answer was obvious. My heart beat faster when he looked me in the eye, embarrassing me, the one who'd thought, "I don't like him that much." I may have been right, before those nights we talked and bonded. At that moment? It was clear. I was doomed.
There is a reason why I distance myself. This situation highlighted that reason in all its splendor. After being hurt and dragged on, lied to and manipulated, I couldn't let anyone control me. It was the same reason why I didn't normally let people touch me. It was also the same reason why I used to greet people by punching them in the arm.
When he finally did tell me who it was (and I had an inkling a moment before then that it wasn't me he was referring to), I didn't feel a thing. I nodded, understanding entirely, completely masking what I thought of it. In some ways I am proud of that; as I IMed a couple of friends with my laptop sitting on my lap, I admitted that while I did feel a bit disappointed, I also felt relieved.
I'm not ready.
Still, after leaving my group of friends, I found myself sitting on a toilet, thinking to myself, "Why couldn't it have been me? Am I still too boyish? Too loud? Too much of a friend and less of a romantic interest?"
It hurt me.
The thoughts began to pelt me like ice balls in such an unexpected manner that I found myself curling into a little ball in my bed. Did I even want to go shopping the next day, like I had planned? Did I even want to go to sleep while I felt so shitty?
I barely got out of bed today. To make matters worse, it's colder than it has been all week again and I don't have the strength to walk back to my dorm.
But I still want to go shopping.
It's become a philosophy of mine; feeling shitty? Go feel pretty. Even if "he" or "she" doesn't make you feel as though you're worth something- in looks, in personality, in anything- you must make sure that it is ingrained to you that you are wrong. You are a strong, independant person who don't need no significant other, who can power through a snowstorm in a hoodless jacket and still arrive at your first class at 9am with perfect hair, a flawless face, and an expression that screams "I'm looking down on all of you". Prove your dominance. Assess your own ability and believe in it.
Of course, after you run out of energy because of that, you can sulk all you want.
It's a trick of the trade.