The Girl I Almost Became
I will look at myself in the bathroom mirror and marvel at the fact that somehow I made it here. If you had asked me 12, or even 10 years ago, I certainly wouldn’t have thought I would.
I will look at myself in the bathroom mirror and marvel at the fact that somehow I made it here. If you had asked me 12, or even 10 years ago, I certainly wouldn’t have thought I would.
“We could just be friends.” That tells you everything. Everything you could possibly need to know. Everything you saw coming. Everything you want to be wrong; some kind of mistake.
I hate that you live in me now. I hate that I see you when I look at my reflection and wonder what you have that I don’t.
The world owes you nothing.
Just because I am genuinely interested in who you are as a person, it doesn’t mean I want to hook up with you.
I know I’m not alone in this process. I know a lot of you reading this have done the same thing. You might even be doing it right now.
It’s a daily struggle. Sometimes I look at myself and think I’m not sick enough.
There’s nothing left inside of me for you. If you cut a small hole somewhere between my ribs and peeked inside you’d see an empty chamber. You’d see right through me to a xylophone of vertebrae.
I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a place where something horrible happened once, but lots of those places have a weird feeling about them.
I’m done with having people tell me how special I am, how great I am at this and that, only be left wondering how I would possibly mean so much to people when their actions speak far louder than their words.