Sometimes when I am asleep, and the wind is coming in through the window of my childhood bedroom, I can almost feel you here. For a sleepover, the way we used to do all the time. It was just our clothes then, I didn’t know what was mine or yours. It was our day then, we never left each other’s sides. It was our life then, a pact that if we made it to 40 and were still single, we’d run away together and live on the beach in Mexico. I always wake up in a sweat from those dreams now. Now I live in your phone as an unknown cell number, I live in your photos as a girl you used to know. I live in that stain I left on the carpet of your truck when my bubblegum ice cream melted. Now I’m the most hated girl. For twenty-five years in a row. If you’ve never been the last choice friend, undiagnosed depression at a very young age, artsy but filled with melancholy girl, then you’ve never been the most hated girl. But I’ve worn her skin all my life. At first it was the separate group chat with 9 memb...
I wish sixteen year old me would have told a few more people to go f*ck themselves. Honestly, I think a lot of us go through life thinking that kindness is the only way to get anywhere. Now listen, that’s not to say to be rude to everyone you meet, but there’s a place and time where it’s perfectly viable to tell someone what they need to hear. There’s a sort of plateau of kindness. A little bit goes a long way to someone who values you. But at a certain point, the curve kind of…flattens out. The less someone values you, the less it matters HOW nice you are, and becomes more about simply how much they like you. Reality check - some people are just never going to like you. And people think you owe them kindness simply because you just have always acted that way. Side note - being nice as collateral or so you have something to hold over their head in the future is not nice, its manipulative. Don't be a martyr. I think I'll talk about that more one day...but for now: I wish sixte...