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I wish I could rewind time and do my whole life over. Figure out where I could do things better. Make better choices. I think we all wish that at some point or another. 

Tonight is one of my bad nights. I know it’s not my first and it certainly won’t be my last. I had a sudden realization tonight, though. That realization is contributing to these negative feelings. 

The realization was this; I seemingly only have motivation to do things if it benefits another person, directly or indirectly. I don’t do things just for myself. Example: I’m terrified of being overweight. But because that doesn’t really impact anyone but me, I don’t do anything about it. I take care of others before myself. I find more happiness in creating happiness in others. I go to school because I want people to be proud of me, and I know how disappointed others would be in me if I didn’t go.  I help others because I don’t want anyone to be sad or upset. I often am a yes man because I don’t want to inconvienence someone or disappoint them. 

I have no motivation to do things for me. 

I started therapy because I was being threatened with a breakup if I didn’t go. 

I started school because I was being pushed to go. 

I do favors for others because I feel immense guilt if I say no. Granted, I do say no sometimes. 

I guess the trigger of this realization tonight was simply taking a shower. I looked down at my body and saw something I am completely unhappy with. Something I’ve been unhappy with for quite some time. I am slowly gaining weight back. The girl I see in the mirror is chubby, unattractive. My short hair adds to this feeling. My friends are all slim, fit, and drop dead gorgeous. I envy them. Yet I have no motivation to do a damn thing about it. I’ve tried dieting. I try working out and it sticks for a few days, same with the dieting. I just don’t know what I have to do to change this mindset and these behaviors. 

It’s strange though. I see people who weigh more than I do, or wear bigger sizes than me as skinny. I find more beauty in others than ever in myself. I find almost every person I meet beautiful and I constantly search for and cling to the good in people. So why can’t I see myself as skinny, or beautiful? Why am I constantly dogging on myself? 

I think a lot of my problems stem from my mother. She use to call me fat. Point out my cellulite (which is genetic by the way. Never be down on someone who has it. They can’t control it.). Tell me I look like I’m months pregnant. She controlled when we ate even if we were very hungry. She had a tight grip on food in general. My mother had a very negative relationship with food. She ate out of emotions. For my whole life I only knew her to be obese. I am sure that plays a role in my dislike and my being terrified of being overweight. 

When I was forced from my home, I eventually developed eating disorders. Body dismorphia, anorexia and eventually bulimia. My disorders never got to the point of hospitalization or extremely out of hand, but I still had them. Now, I have a battle with food. I eat only really one meal a day. But when I start eating I can’t control myself. I eat large amounts of food and I could eat for hours. I love the most unhealthy foods, too. Sweets in particular. I wish I could keep myself accountable and just get myself together. This is where I have the most problems. I simply don’t know how to get a grip on my diet. 

I’m hoping that I can just wake up, and soon, and have a whole new outlook. There have been small things I’ve cut out, like soda (for 9 months now), most red meat, most fast food as well, but what I don’t way in those departments I seemingly make up for in others. 

I just hope I can get my act together and soon. I want to be healthy. I want to be fit. I want to feel good. I just need to dig deep and find the motivation within.  


Enough Already…..


I’m at my wits end here. I don’t know how much more I can take before I reach a full breaking point. I’m like a tree branch; you can bend me and bend me, until finally I snap. 

That’s where I’m at. I’ve reached my capacity and if one more thing piles on, my branch will break. 

Car needs fixed. 

Phone screen shattered. 


Worked almost 30 hours this weekend alone to not make much money. 

Surprise medical bill. 

The bills I already have just got much more expensive. 

My college lost some of my paperwork so I STILL can’t pick classes….which start in less than two weeks. 

I need to try to move out, for various personal reasons. 

My body aches in every place imaginable. 

Friends all moved back to college. 

I am broke as a joke. 

I can’t imagine the stress I will endure once school actually starts for me. Am I going to be able to handle it? These days I find it hard to force the smile I so often paste on my face. I just don’t have the energy. I don’t have energy for much of anything. 

I’m supposed to work tomorrow. I’ve been trying to find someone to take my shift because my body just can’t handle it. I’ve had no time to relax and try to get healthy. The more I work the sicker I get. I’m pushing myself too far. 

Things have never been easy for me, yet they’ve certainly been easier. I feel like an outcast among my friends even. Like I’m a nuisance. I’ve felt that way for some time, though. 

I just want things to get better. It’s not like I’m not trying to improve these situations, because I am. However, when it rains it pours. One thing after the next so I can seemingly never catch up. I need some form of relief. A vacation? I can’t afford it. Most things I find stress relieving I can’t afford. Shopping, vacations, movies, trying new restaurants….I don’t know. 

Jesus help me. I truly mean that. 



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I debated for a while on if I should write about this specific topic. If I should keep it secret. If it’s an appropriate thing to put out there for the public to read. I’m still unsure. So this might get deleted in the future. In writing this I am not looking for sympathy or pity or anything really. I’m using this as an outlet. I’m reaching a breaking point I’m trying to avoid. 

A few months ago I started a relationship that was seemingly perfect. He was a gentleman. Opened every door for me. Picked up the tab. Told me I was beautiful. You know, did everything a girl could ever dream about. About a month in to the relationship we took the next step forward. I’m sure you can guess what that step is, and if not then you’ll know soon enough. I didn’t feel scared to share that part of myself with him. I felt cared for and comfortable. That changed very shortly after. 

I’m the type of person who doesn’t need sex. It’s not a huge deal to me. Am I a sexual person? Sure. That doesn’t mean that I need it or even want it frequently, or at all sometimes. In a fairly new relationship I expect sex drives to be high. It’s something new, exciting. Yet, it seemed to be his only focus. It became something that tore at me. I no longer enjoyed that aspect of our relationship. 

One specific night he was pushing for it. I sunk into a depressive state and started crying. I had to explain that I felt that was the only thing he cared about and that we needed to slow our roll. I also blamed myself and began to think that maybe I made myself too available too soon for him. It was a whirlwind romance and everything had been moving so rapidly. He said he understood and that we’d take things slower. I was grateful that he seemed so understanding and caring as he held me and made sure I felt better. Fast forward to the next morning. Waking up, he began to get pushy again. I couldn’t believe that after we had just had that discussion that he was even asking me. I grew very angry. I asked him, “Don’t you remember the discussion we had last night?” I was greeted with “yes, but you were just sleep deprived.” I couldn’t believe my ears. 

I should’ve known then that things weren’t going to work out. That this relationship was going to grow abusive in nature. That he couldn’t provide me with what I needed or was looking for. That I would get hurt in the long run. I wish I would’ve followed my gut…but my gut seemed so wishy-washy at times. 

Things went back to normal for some time.

The last few days, well the last week really, of our relationship was awful. Stressful. Full of anger and of doubt. We had a discussion that Thursday about how I felt. I felt that a lot of things were strange. He was hiding me from friends and coworkers. Kept switching plans. Odd things and warning signs his ex warned me of, which back then I thought she was crazy until I started experiencing them myself. His dating site was still up when we got together, even at least a week later. Later I found out he was still dating his ex when he took me on our first date. The list goes on and on. So as I sat him down and calmly explained all this, he grew silent. Started questioning our relationship. Started telling me our political and social differences were too much. Then would said he wanted it to work. Then he didn’t know. Then he could see himself with me forever. Then he couldn’t. Then, the cherry on top of it all, was when he raised his voice at me and told me “well I’ve been dealing with all your mental illness bullshit.” 


I couldn’t possibly feel the same about him after that. 

At this point, things will get a touch more graphic in the nature of my writing. 

A few days later, I was very weary. I spent the night with him after meeting up with a friend. He again, like usual, started pushing for sexual favors. I protested, and then eventually just gave up after he continued to beg. After a few minutes of messing around, whatever you choose to call it, he began to tell me he wanted a blow job. Then that turned into him telling me to give him one. I kept saying no. He got on his knees, and shoved himself in my mouth anyways. I didn’t ask for that. I didn’t want to do it. I did it anyway. I felt as though it was best to just do it than to continue fighting him on the topic. He’d get his way anyway, right? 

I felt low after that. I turned away from him after and laid there. We broke up that night. He went through my text messages when I was trying to sleep and found a message to someone that he didn’t like. 

“I wish I were with you right now.” 

He didn’t give me time to explain that this text message was innocent in nature, no romantic feelings or meaning behind it. That I wanted to be anywhere but with him. That anyone would’ve gotten that message had they texted me as well. He threw my clothes at me and told me to get the fuck out. Which was fine. I wanted to leave. I wanted to leave badly. 

I don’t think that the message, in hindsight, was very nice to send. However, it was meant like I intended, and not like he read it. I had no idea how to tell him how violated he made me feel and how badly I didn’t want to be around him. How do you go about telling someone that? 

So right now, I feel shitty. The thought of anything sexual makes me sick to my stomach. I have no desire for it. I don’t want my ass grabbed or slapped. Don’t touch me in a sexual manner. Don’t even talk about sex. Being in a relationship now, with someone I dated previously and for a long time, makes that hard. He’s respecting my wishes and understands where I’m coming from and is being 100% supportive. It hurts to think about something so intimate and special being something that gives me anxiety and sickness to my stomach. 

I don’t know where to go from here if I’m honest. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to ever see him anywhere, for fear I might cause a scene. I pray that his next girlfriend doesn’t have the same experience that I did. 

Sinking Ship


I feel like my life is a sinking ship at the moment. Everything that could go wrong, goes wrong. I’m trying hard to keep my head above the water and remind myself that my struggles aren’t for nothing and that there is a bigger plan for me. 

Currently, I find relief in very few things. The things I typically enjoy aren’t bringing me the happiness that I very much long for. Between my grandmothers illness and the great responsibility that is expected of me with that, to my family’s blame, to the $2 left in my wallet, and a gas tank on E. From the maxed credit cards, the slight weight gain, and the possibility of not going to school this semester. From making no money at my job, (no matter how many hours I work. My last pay stub said I made 147$ in 2 weeks.) to needing to move out, or do something to fix my living situation. My list is longer than I care to think about. 

I’m struggling. I’m gasping for air. I’m on the brink of explosion. I’m beaten up and torn apart. Frankly, I don’t know what to do. When I thought things couldn’t get worse, I shattered my phone screen, badly. I had never broken a phone or cracked a screen in the 10 years I’ve had a phone. So of course, when I’m poor as hell, poorest I’ve ever been, that’s when it breaks. 

I know that I could have it worse. I also know that you can’t compare anyone’s struggles because everyone handles things differently. 

Currently I’m laying in bed in just my underwear, a towel wrapped around my wet hair, feeling like there’s a ton of bricks sitting atop my chest, wanting to cry. 

I feel needy when I talk to people about my struggles. Everyone has their own, so I don’t want to push mine on someone else. I don’t want someone to think I’m asking for hand outs and pity parties. 

I just want relief. A break. A vacation. Yet most of those things don’t ever seem to come free. Some might say that I have control over all of this and if I want things to get better I need to grab life by the balls and do something. While true, to some extent, I’m not not being proactive. The decisions I have to make aren’t small, and that takes time and careful planning. That’s part of what makes this so hard. 

While I am not going to feel much better tonight, or probably even tomorrow, I am doing my best to find some sort of escape. I will say I have an amazing set of friends who are willing to be here for me in any way they can. I’m very thankful for them and for that. I’m sure they know I’d do the same. 

So, I guess I should unwind this towel, fix my hair and my face, and get my sad ass out of this bed. 



Emptiness engulfed me like I was wooden and the emptiness was a flame. 

I searched everywhere for feeling but found it nowhere. Just darkness and blank spaces all around me. 

Echos of my slow heartbeat filled the room, only reminding me of how alone I am. You could hear a pin drop, if there was only a pin to drop. 

Silence seeps in through my pores, so quiet it covers my thoughts in a blanket, and I can no longer think. 
I stumble through life like a newborn deer just learning to walk. Falling and standing back up, only to fall again. Only, I never grow up to learn how to stand stable. 

I am seemingly a tumbleweed. Rolling through life with wherever the wind decides I need to go. No sense of direction, because the winds are ever changing. 

Everything is blank. My mind especially. No thoughts because there is no reason to think, when you’re a tumbleweed with no sense of direction. 


The title of this post is exactly how I am feeling the last few days. Blamed.

My grandmother, whom I have lived with for the last five years, has been quite sick off and on for about 2-3 of those. At first the sickness spells were spread quite far apart and they weren’t so bad. Now they’re more frequent and more severe. She is currently in the hospital. While I love my grandmother, she is quite stubborn when it comes to her medication. She does not like to take it, so at times she just decides not to. Mostly you can tell when she has stopped taking it and the spells are preventable. Here in recent times it has become harder to predict. This last time, which has landed her in the hospital, there were no signs. She was seemingly fine. Unfortunately, this time has been the most severe out of all of the cases. I don’t think it’s fair, for her sake, to go in depth about her illness, so I won’t delve that far into things.

I found my way into the hospital yesterday and was fortunate enough to be accompanied by one of my friends. (Thank God for her or I might have lost my sanity.) The nurse, whom I very much dislike (she had a very rude way about her when she spoke to me), proceeded to tell me everything that I had already known. She didn’t know however, that I lived with my grandmother. She then proceeded to basically blame me for my grandmothers bad spells. This woman knows absolutely nothing about me, my life, my schedule, or what occurs in my grandmother and I’s residence. As the visit proceeded, more of my family arrived. Those family members also proceeded to blame me for her being in the hospital and for not taking care of her.

Here are the questions I have for them:

Do you know that I work a full time job, and am a college student?

Do you know that my grandmothers illness is not something that can be caused by another human being?

Do you know that anything my grandmother asks of me, I do?

I don’t mean to trash on my grandmother when I say this, but she has a way of telling our family members only of the times that I am not home to help her, and of the times I stay somewhere for a few days. My family members never get to hear about the things that I do do for her, or about how I was working 6 days a week for a couple months there, or that I’m going to school to be a therapist, or about the fact that I have a mental illness. I have to keep a social life in tact or I slip into a depression. I’m very much so a social butterfly…being social is what keeps me afloat. My time with my friends is very valuable to me and my mental health. (Believe that or not.)

It also seems that the same people who say I never help or never do anything for her are the same people I never see around. The same people who only show up when she’s laying in a hospital bed. I love my family very much, (also, believe it or don’t), but you cannot blame one person for the downfall of another persons internal physical health. I cannot make her liver fail. I cannot make it hard for her to walk.

In order for my grandmother to get the proper care that she needs, as expected by my family, it would require me to quit both my job and my schooling. I refuse to do that. I have goals, and dreams, and things that I want to accomplish with my life. I’m 22 years old barely surviving off of a waitress salary. She has grown capable kids, that should be helping take care of her. Granted, I understand that some of them have children and lives, but I also have a very busy life. I understand that I live with her, and I should help her, and anything she asks of me I do do, but her children should be more prominent in her life. I don’t have the financial means to take care of her like she needs. I don’t have the physical means to pick her up when she falls. I don’t have the mental capacity to take care of her on my own. I’ve had breakdowns and I beat myself up over this all of the time, and I feel as though I am nearing yet another break.

Here’s the thing, though. My family doesn’t give a single shit about me. Not a single one of them were there (aside from my grandparents) when my parents kicked me out. Not a single one of them were there when I was laying in that hospital bed on suicide watch. Not a single one of them. I wish that my family would take the time to talk to me. To keep updated. To understand what’s going on. Yet they don’t. My grandmother, in my opinion, cannot be fully there mentally. Otherwise why would she stop taking the medication that she knows keeps her alive? She vents on the phone when she’s mad to anyone who will listen (although, I think we all do the same thing.). Yet, when it comes to the good things, no one ever hears that.

It’s safe to say that I am beyond frustrated. I don’t think they know that I love my grandmother with all of my heart. My uncle, I will say, takes her to the store once a week to do her shopping and takes her to her doctors appointments. I can’t always do those things given my ever changing and very busy schedule. But at the end of the day I’m at home. Helping clean up, making sure that she’s alive, asking if she took her meds, joking around with her, giving her hugs, telling her I love her every time I walk out the door. Why don’t those things amount to anything? He has legal care of her. So at the end of the day, what he says goes. He’ll more than likely send her home, only for the same thing to happen in another month or two. Not because I’m not taking care of her, but because the situation is obviously getting worse and more unpredictable. I’m not told anything about her health. I’m not kept updated…and why aren’t the important questions being asked? The ones the doctors won’t tell me because I’m not her legal caretaker. Like, is her situation worsening with her liver?? Should she be put in a home?

I’m heartbroken. It’s a very difficult thing for me to go to the hospital and see her. Both for schedule reasons and mental health reasons. I hate seeing her that way. I hate seeing my family there, seemingly so concerned. Where are they all the other times…why does no one come visit on a random tuesdsay night?

If it were my choice, she would have round the clock care by someone who is trained and prepared. Especially with how the situations are worsening. Her children won’t do it, and I can’t, but someone needs to be with her at all times. I don’t want to see my grandma go. We’ve had our bad times, but we’ve shared so many laughs and so much love. She stepped in when my parents bailed on me. She didn’t have to do any of that. I appreciate it more than she will ever know.

People, my family included, may never understand why I don’t “do more.” But when I say that I can’t, I can’t. I am doing what I can. I’m doing what I am mentally capable of doing. This stress, of the situation and being around my family, is pushing me to a whole new edge that I am afraid to go over. While I am not close with them anymore, I don’t know how things would be with severed ties. I guess I just feel as though everyone already looks down upon me. Like I’m lazy and not doing anything, but it is so much the opposite.

Currently, I feel depressed. Worn out. Sad. Like I’m letting my grandmother down. I’m afraid that when she does die, that will be placed on my head and considered my fault, because I didn’t do enough, and I should’ve been there.

I guess my question is this:

Where are all of you…?

This is in no way to throw hate upon anyone in my family. This is simply how I am feeling in regards to this situation. At one point our family was close, and now, when everyone needs to be sticking together and everyone needs to be helping out, everyone seems so far away. Or maybe I’m the only one outside of the loop….because this negative light has been shed upon me that shouldn’t even be there.

I think I could explain my life and my reasoning and all the things that I do do for her, and it still could and would never be enough. Never enough. So I am trying very hard to find a way around all of these feelings and trying to find a way to cope. It’s very difficult. If I lose them, because of this, then were they ever really family at all?


My writing has certainly slowed down these days. I guess that’s what seems to happen when life speeds up….unfortunately. 

My life these days has been a crazy whirlwind. Not quite a disaster. Not quite happy. Not lacking excitement. I’m trying to be an actual adult lately. Diet plans, budgeting, scoping out new colleges, fitness goals, you name it I’m trying to do it…or get it together rather. Tennis has become a new hobby. Seems as though working my life away has become the new thing as well. 

I’m tired. That’s seemingly an understatement to be honest. My body hates me, today especially. While my mind is young, my body feels ancient to me. My knees gave me trouble with every step I took, my wrists felt so weak when carrying things. Why do I feel like my body is in shambles? 

Overall, I suppose I could say I’m happy. I’ve moved on and past an unhealthy relationship with my most recent ex. Working a lot, but it makes paying my bills so much easier. I have great friends. I’m trying new things. Preparing myself for the future. It’s just a lot to take in and do at times. Yet here I am doing it. 

I’ve seen my mother a few times. In public. Just a glance. It was very strange. I didn’t feel upset, rather confused. That woman I saw with my two eyes is a stranger. Yet she birthed me, fed me, raised me, loved me even at one point. Now she’s just someone I use to live with, talk to, someone that once knew me. 

I’m writing this with half open eyes. Half thoughts and half effort. I just felt the need to write something. Anything. It’s been far too long and I miss it. Such a great outlet writing is. I’ll have to add that to my list of things I need to do more often. 



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I wonder how different my life would be if I hadn’t chosen to stay with my grandmother. 

I remember the last real conversation I had with my parents. We sat at their dining room table and talked about the possibility of me moving back in. I sat across from them feeling like they were strangers. My dad had tears in his eyes. My mom swore that things would be different. That they wouldn’t hurt me anymore. I made the conscious choice to leave that house and never look back, even after that. 

Granted, I still wanted a relationship with them. I just couldn’t possibly allow myself to live in a household I knew was toxic. Yet that was the night that everything was severed. 

Last night I watched two of my friends get married. It was beautiful. I was so happy for them, yet I found myself in tears of sorrow. The father daughter dance did me in. I’ve prayed many nights for a relationship with my father. I’ve extended olive branches. Yet in these last five years, I’ve continuously found myself heartbroken by the lack of relationship and the lack of effort. So to see a father and daughter dance, happily, and knowing I won’t have that at my wedding, was devastating. I appreciated the beauty, but hurt for myself. 

I wonder where I would be. Who I would be. What hobbies I would have. Who I’d be dating. What I would look like. While it’s all so painful yet, I’m also grateful I made the choice that I did. No one deserves to be abused. No one deserves what I was dealing with. So choosing to not go back home, was ultimately choosing my health and my happiness. 

Choosing yourself does hurt sometimes though. I will say that. In choosing myself I lost my family. In choosing myself though, I didn’t choose to lose them. They chose to let me go. They chose to not get help or understand. Things to this day are more strained than ever. Five years with almost no communication. 

My leaving tore the whole family apart. My parents distanced themselves from everyone. They have no communication with either side. Yet this is something they were already in the process of doing, and had been doing, for some years beforehand. 

I just wonder. I wonder a lot about what would be different. I wonder if I’d even be alive. Maybe that’s morbid to say. I just know how much pain I was in and how much I was struggling at home, and they never saw it. Never listened. Never helped. On my own I found and gained the tools I needed to become healthy. 

Parents are a hard thing to lose. Life has a whole new level of difficulty without them. At 17 I had to get my own health insurance. I have so much extra paperwork every semester of college just to get federal grants to help me through school, because I don’t have my parents information or help. I don’t have my birth cirtificate. I had to get a new social security card. I have all my own bills, medical, car insurance, phone, credit cards, you name it. I had to grow up fast, and much too young. 

Yet I don’t regret any of it. While I may wonder how things would be different and who I would be, I’m glad for the most part that I’m where I’m at. It’s painful, and I struggle, but this is for the best. I can only pray that one day my parents do what I did; grow up. I fail to see, although I’m not a parent, how you can just desert your child. Drag them through the dirt and never talk to them again. Just for choosing to not come live at home. While that may seem crazy, that is the sole reason they will not talk to me. Or would not, at least. I don’t know their reasoning now, but knowing myself, they’d have no reason to dislike their own daughter. 

So I wonder what it would have been like had I chosen to come home that day. Would things have changed? Would I ever have gotten help? Would I be in school? I will never know. I honestly think I made the right and the best descision, no matter how hurt I feel at times. I will always love my parents. I do not like them, but I love them. 

Everything happens for a reason. I have to remind myself of this. With or without them, I will be okay. So far, without them, I’ve become a woman I can say I’m proud of. 

Funny Girl


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I’ve always been the funny girl. I always wanted to be the pretty girl. Or better yet, the pretty girl who was funny. 

This by no means is me saying I don’t think I’m pretty or that I think I’m ugly. This is me saying I do lack a certain kind of confidence. Overall, I am very confident with myself. I’m funny, smart, and I’d like to think attractive. However I still tend to compare. 

Growing up I always wanted to model. I currently still do. I was always told I “wasn’t tall enough” or I “weighed too much” or anything along those lines. Anything to tear my hopes and my dreams apart. Relationships with men always brought a lack of compliments and reassurance which led to a lack of confidence. My friends are all extremely beautiful and have no issue finding suitors. Then there’s me. I have deemed myself the DUFF of my group….minus the fat part. DUFF stands for designated ugly fat friend. 

While I’m not ugly, a lot of the times I feel I can’t compete. I know life isn’t about competing in that way, but as a female, an emotionally abused one at that, sometimes it’s impossible to not. I’m recognized for my humor. Never complimented on outfits or hair or just my look in general. Now, making people laugh is so important to me. But compliments are nice. They build you up, give you a boost. I have lacked that kind of boost my whole life. 

Unfortunately for me, when compliments do come about my appearance from males, they’re not so nice. Mostly based on my assets alone. Mostly vulgar. Mostly tears me down. What about my smile? Or my eyes? 

This post seems very shallow. Maybe this post is shallow. Yet I can’t help but feel this way at times. I have my days though where my confidence is through the roof. As of late it’s really lacking. I want to feel beautiful. I know that feeling comes from within and not from temporary compliments though. It’s something you have to seek within yourself. I also have to remind myself that outer beauty isn’t as important as inner beauty, which I am not lacking in. 

All I’m saying is, throughout my life, I have been torn down, torn apart, and damaged. I’ve had to build my confidence almost solely on compliments I pay myself. 

I am the funny friend. Not the hot friend. Or the pretty friend. Or the smart friend. I am the funny friend. Maybe that’s okay. Because laughter brings joy and there’s nothing more beautiful than joy. 

Tonight I taped a card above my vanity mirror that says “you are beautiful.” Just a simple reminder that with or without makeup, I am beautiful. I need to try to remind myself that it doesn’t matter what someone else looks like, because I am uniquely made. Someone out there will think I’m the most stunning woman they’ve ever seen. 

Looks are so….unimportant in the long run. Yet confidence is so important. It takes so much time to build and a lot of energy to maintain. Society has made us into beings that care so much what others think of our outward appearance. I am so beyond guilty of caring what someone thinks about my appearance. But why? What a stranger thinks should not matter. I’ll probably ever see them again. But compliments feel good and sometimes they can change our whole day. 

Here’s what I hope for. I hope to find someone who loves me first for my personality and second for my looks. I think that’s something we all hope for. 

Regardless though of what society says, we are all beautiful. Because we are all alive. We are all human. And we are capable of creating such beauty, even other humans. 

So, my confidence is a work in progress. I guess from here on out I’m going to try to wake up each morning and tell myself that I AM beautiful. The most important compliments are the ones you pay yourself. 

These Days


These day I….

Feel unworthy of love. 







A whole jumble of feelings I don’t want to feel. My minds always racing, thoughts crashing into one another, creating a huge mess. 

I’m at a point where I don’t know where I am anymore. I don’t know, I just simply don’t. I know what I’m looking for and what I want to accomplish, it just feels at times like I’m never going to get there or I’m never going to find the right person. I try and try and I fight and fight. Yet every time I get nowhere. I get crushed. I suppose that’s okay though. It all will lead me to where I need to be. 

I guess I’m feeling like this lately because I have friends getting married and buying houses and having children. And here I am, unable to even keep a relationship. It saddens me. While I’m happy for those around me, I’m sad for myself. Is that pathetic? Sometimes I think it might be. 

I’m not trying to rush anything, though. I’ll never jump into something that isn’t right just for the sake of having something. I’d rather have nothing and no one than something toxic or doesn’t fit well. I have expectations I need to have met. I deserve something good. 

My last relationship was one I thought was good, but I wonder sometimes if it was even real. My end was very real, but was his? I’ll never know, and maybe that’s okay. I don’t need to know, because I’ve learned from it, grown from it, and it has put me where I need to be. 

I hope one day I find a love that is pure and true. I hope I find the right job. I hope I finish college. I hope I am happy and successful. I will do everything in my power to make these things happen, but I know that I’ll end up where I’m supposed to be. Fate is a very real thing to me. 

For now I’m praying for the best. I just need to make it out of this rut and on to happier times. I will and I can, but right now it’s a lonely road.