when you're gone

blame the ancient greeks

It was the Greeks that glamorized the feeling/idea of love. It’s the Greeks we have to blame for our heartbreak.

No. No, it’s not my life. In reality, it’s no where even near my life. It’s my head, it’s creating this pressure that send chemical things in my brain to make me happy; it’s those thoughts that make me think, that make me imagine and want. It’s not reality. I take a step back when my heart is hurting. When it is literally hurting, when I can’t feel my beat and when it hurts and my arm is sore and I’m on my side, in bed because I’m always in bed, clawing at my shoulder. It hurts, and my head hurts, and all of this imagining stuff that is making me happy, it makes me worry. It makes me want things even more; it makes me want real things. And then the pain is hurting my head again, the one in my heart. The aching, pulsating, throbbing pain. It makes me lie on my side, and think about how I can’t say it aloud. I can’t. Because whenever I did, no one could hear me; I couldn’t hear myself, only in my head, and I wondered if it was all imaginary. But I know it’s not, and no one is believing me. Years ago, the emergency room, the fruitless waiting, the ignorant people and those shaking their heads, scan after scan and rolling eyes. No, they turn their heads; I’m nothing, just sitting there, telling a story. It hurts, it does. They see nothing, so they think nothing of it. They don’t check, they don’t ask, and then I’m misrepresented by someone who only cares about appearances. Belief. I have none of it myself, I can’t even believe life and all of this. But I’m afraid, afraid of what’s happening and afraid of everything that is wrong, because only I know and they aren’t listening and they’re not me. They shrug so easily. Why do they shrug so easily? I’m that easy to pass up, to shrug to and give up on, like so many other things. Nothing really makes me feel good anymore. No one, no one that’s here or anywhere, around me. I surround myself with those who laugh, who have no substance or care or thought. No one who takes a look and says, I think I’ll ask her how she’s doing. No one who doesn’t use me, or who actually likes who I am, or who shows it anyway. I fill my head with thoughts to keep myself from feeling this way, this way I’m feeling right now. And no, I won’t say I’m sorry for being this way, for expressing what I’ve been feeling for six years. I’m tired. I’m exhausted, and lonely, and tired of my own mind and body, my heart is tired. It hurts more often, making me face what I’ve been trying to drown out, trying to kill with little things like people who don’t give a fuck, but I pretend they do. No, I don’t want to waste my money on you; I don’t want to waste my time pleasing you, and saying things you want to hear. No, I’m not going to go out of my way, or do things I don’t want to do because you do, and I know you’re using me. No, I’m sick of waiting for anyone to call me back or notice I’m needing someone. I’m needing someone. Someone who I can say things to, whom I can care about and who really likes me for me. For who I am, and who is proud of what I’m doing and who wants to talk to me, and who wants to be here. Who wants to want to know how I am, where I’m going, and if I’m happy with life. No, I’m not happy. Moments are moments, not pure happiness. I hate smiling, I hate my nose, I have so many ideas for photography and I feel like I’m being torn down every which way I turn. With no one to turn to, no one I can tell my heart is hurting, and no one who actually gives a shit if my heart hurts or not. But really, are there people in this life who actually would care, who would want to talk to people? I’ve never met anyone who fits the bill. And I don’t expect to. But this is how I feel. And I wish my goddamn heart would stop fucking hurting already.

all the things i said i'd do

i can’t even look at you anymore. your face has been burned into my mind every which way, from seeing you all the time so months without even a presence. i don’t even know why, why i still can’t form a word, and barely even walk past you. you get so close to me sometimes, i just can’t bear it and i hold my breath and i can’t think. still, after all this time, all the time not saying a word to you. why? i’ve gotten past recent relationships, ones that turned out even worse than we did. so why am i unable to say anything when i see you? even around the corner, even when you can’t see me. i made promises to myself, yet they were made when i hadn’t seen you in months. now, here you are. right in front of me, so close. i came back so i could see you, and then you left, and now here you are. suddenly, like the wind was knocked out of me. i had gotten used to the idea of moving on, when you left and your name was barely mentioned. and then there you are, early in the morning and standing by my old friends, the people i used to go to. i can barely even look at them now, because of you. because you terrify me, the way you can have so much power over me. even when you don’t know it; but the looks i see you giving me out of the corner of my eye, the look i barely register and the look i catch for a half a second–i see it. i think about it. and somehow, i want to let you know that i’m still here, and you know i can’t do anything, so i want you to do it. it’s selfish, considering all the things i’ve put you through. even the way your friends used to look me, it broke me, knowing i hurt you that much. the way they still look at me, here and there. i bet they’re amazed at how i’m capable of doing such a thing. but really, in all honesty, i’m trying my best to accept the end i don’t want and move forward. i’m trying to teach myself that this is a life lesson, a kind of parting that we all go through. i’m getting myself ready for when i disappoint myself in June, when i’ll be thousands of miles away from where you are and it will all be over. i think most of what’s hurting me is that inside, i know i can change this, i know it’s not the end, not yet, but i also know i won’t do anything. i’m mourning for something that’s not even lost yet.

or is it? i could say it is. but then i could be an optimist and say it’s not. i don’t know who to trust, i never have, and i never will, not until June.