Things I Often Forget:
I am only nineteen. I am still very young.
It’s okay that I don’t know what I’m doing with my life; there’s time to figure it out later. It’s okay that I can be very dependent on others; I’m still learning this whole life thing. It’s okay that I sometimes miss my parents and just want to be around them and have them take care of me; that’s their job. It’s okay that I want to curl up in my own bed with my dogs every once in awhile; that’s my home and has been for my entire life. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to be really sad. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be really sad and cry over things that do not even directly affect me. It’s okay to be a bit of a mess; that’s the entire point of growing up.
She’s not the girl he’s always wanted.
The wanderer, the dreamer, stretched taut between reality and non-existence, a black hole swaddled in purple silk, the mystery no one ever can or will solve, not even him. He wants her, the girl in every novel doomed somewhere in the midst of half-dead and half-alive. Or, he wanted her, that girl with her thin limbs, fiery hair, pale skin.
She’s not that girl. Or, she seems not to be that girl, as far as he has seen. While she may dream, she is not prone to wandering. She is most certainly real, and though a lover of both purple and silk, space has only just begun to hold her interest at a most minimal and unimpressive level. She is not found on the pages of any novel, mystery or otherwise. She is of an average build, previously more athletic but slimmer now than ever before. Her hair is a jet black, but if he would only look closer he would find strands of red in the summer months begging for the weight of his fingertips, just as her tan skin begs for the sun’s kiss until she is the color of bronze.
She is not that fictional lost girl he has always dreamed of having for even the shortest amount of time (because that girl always flies away in the end, doesn’t she? or is it drowns?) but she is a real lost girl. Maybe she doesn’t wander, but maybe she has no need. This place she stands is just as foreign to her as any abandoned forest. She will be just as lost there as she is here. Regardless of the physical state of her body, her mind is as much a mystery as any dream girl’s. That flighty nymph holds a monopoly on neither confusion nor indecision.
She is her own puzzle. Three-dimensional and so much more troublesome than any girl trapped by the abilities (or lack thereof) of her author. She certainly feels: the weight of her own arms exhausting her weak shoulders and tired spine, the warmth of his fingertips across her palm, the nausea as he makes it known once more she’s not the girl he’s always wanted.
But if he would stick around a little longer, she could show him all he wants to see, each of her flaws lying in a ball on her bed, dripping saline deep into the duvet, shaking with the force of disappointment. If he would just look back one last time, she could look just as Eurydice must have looked to Orpheus, the loveliest sight he’d ever seen: a spectre, a ghost, a shell of her former self, beautiful and fragile and so very dead.
She’s not the girl he’s always wanted, but even dream girls are inspired by reality.
YO, I GOT SOME TIPS FOR ALL THE MISERABLE LADIES!
(and hell fucking yes i used to be one)
- try getting ready in the morning wearing only the underwear you look the best in (only buy underwear you feel the best in) or get ready naked. it’s like a scientifically proven fact that all boobs are amazing, and i’ve discovered there’s this weird victoria’s secret angel switch that gets flipped when you’re nude putting on makeup or brushing your hair. you just look like a fox.
- don’t be scared to do things you’re really good at in front of people (they want to see) and don’t be scared to talk about how good you are at things (there is a difference between arrogance and confidence, and we’ve been told repeatedly that being proud of ourselves is cocky and unattractive: FUCK THAT, WE’RE JUST THE SHIT, WE CAN’T HELP IT)
- in recent years i’ve discovered that i’m super hot. you also happen to be super hot. i think “super hot” is a combination of attractive, unique, and comfortable. it just took me a long time to learn how to make myself feel and look super hot, learn what you need to do to make yourself realize you’re super hot, and do that. (if you think i’m an idiot and i’m just telling your to put on tons of makeup, read the next bullet)
- make yourself feel pretty. makeup is not a bad thing. no, you don’t need it. no, you don’t have to have it to be “super hot.” but the coolest thing about it is that it’s a useful tool for shaping your hotness into exactly what you’d like to show to the world, and that’s badass. it’s okay if you aren’t born looking the way you feel inside, cause you have the power to tweak. that also goes for your hair, your clothes, etc. for example, do you think your head looks like a penis when your hair is short? grow it out. do you absolutely love when your head looks like a penis? THEN FUCK YEAH KEEP IT THAT WAY
- be honest as much as you possibly can. to yourself, be honest all the time. if you find you are having a really hard time telling certain people the truth, then maybe they are the wrong people for you. do you trust them? do they make you feel bad about yourself? NAH DUDE FUCK THAT
- if you are uncomfortable, you are instantly not super hot. i don’t mean like if you are wearing shoes you love and they hurt your feet. i mean, if you’re shaving your legs every single fucking day and you hate it but you don’t want anyone to say anything. instead, you should only shave your legs so you can feel the pleasure of your smooth legs against the sheets. or because YOU like them shiny when you’re at the beach. only change yourself if to YOU, that is super hot.
- masturbate all the time. that is all.
- the only dude that deserves anyone as super hot as you, is a dude that knows he is super hot. and a dude that realizes you and fawns in the glorious light that is your super hotness.
- don’t go to work if you have nightmares about it. quit and get a new job. you maybe probably aren’t going to love it (hey, maybe you WILL), because it’s work. but if it is affecting your well-being to the point of suffocation then quit. there are tons of shitty jobs that are less shitty than that one.
- you really need to have a catalog of things that you know make you feel better. you will come across these things slowly and randomly. but remember them, and practice them when you feel shitty. you’re going to feel shitty, so be stocked up on plenty of antidotes.
- hurting yourself is so fucking not okay. i cut myself and all i got were these lousy scars. i starved myself and my pretty hair fell out and my brain was all fucked every time i ate anything for years. i tried to kill myself and had to stay in a mental hospital for the most miserable, depressing, loneliest week of my life. i drank myself into a stupor for a couple of months straight and all it did was hinder me learning how to actually help myself and solve my own mental issues. stop all that shit, and start figuring out how to love and how to feel better and how to be badass when you’re all alone and how to feel super hot.
(via thymoss)
