i and my annabel lee 

I am too much.  I am always too much.
I fear that when the lights are off and we’re alone, you’ll realize just how boring I am.  How fucked I am.  I avoid questions about myself, because I don’t want you to know the exact moment when I became so broken, I didn’t even care enough to stop someone else from breaking me more.

my friend once told me that he’s never met anyone who knows themselves like I do, but now, I don’t believe that to be true. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know my own name.
I have noticed so many things about myself, that I never wanted to admit before.
Like the moment I start to feel under appreciated, I distance myself.  I don’t care to be anything to anyone who doesn’t crave me.  I don’t want to be anywhere that I’m not missed every time my presence is missing.
And yet, I am so broken, that if you asked me once, I would come running. I would do anything to keep anyone from hurting, ever again.
I also know that I should not have to rip myself to pieces to keep others whole, but as I type these words, a small shard of my soul has broken away to fly off and comfort whatever dark thought has burrowed its way into your head.
I tell myself to be alone, constantly, because it will be good for me.
“Be alone.”
“Eat alone”
“take yourself on a date to the art museum.”
“sleep alone, and you’ll learn about yourself.  you’ll grow. you’ll figure out what inspires you.  you’ll create your own dreams, beliefs, and clarity.  Be alone, so that when you do meet the person who makes your cells dance, you will be sure of it.”
I am never alone.  I always have someone, whether it be a boyfriend, a best friend, a roommate, or just someone to eat pizza with while I take a test.  I don’t know how to be alone. I am not sure of myself.  I don’t know who I am.
Except, I do know one thing.  I was desperate for anyone to love me, because I didn’t love myself, and the thought of being alone frightened me.
Whenever I get too close to someone who ends up leaving, I always stop and wonder:
Did I say too much?
Did I share too much?
Did I feel too much?
Did I scare you away with my awkwardness?

Suddenly, I want all my secrets back. I want all my thoughts back.

I’m sorry that I care too much, that I think too much, that I feel too much. I’m sorry I do too much. I’m sorry that I’m just.. too much.
I’m sorry for being me.

I don’t know.  It’s impossible to get my thoughts in a perfectly worded post, but there’s just something to be said for people who genuinely make you feel safer.  even if they’re far away from you, their existence is so calming and beautiful, that it makes everything seem better somehow.  I always have to remember, that just because someone doesn’t love you the way you want them to, doesn’t mean they don’t love you with everything they have.
It is important to give people time. give people space.  don’t beg anyone to stay. let them roam.  what’s meant for you will always be yours.

“someone can be madly in love with you and still not be ready.
they can love you in a way you have never been loved, and still not join you on the bridge.
and whatever their reasons, you must leave.
because you never ever have to inspire anyone to meet you on the bridge.
you never have to convince someone to do the work to be ready.
there is more extraordinary love, more love that you have never seen, out here in the wide and wild universe. and there is the love that will be ready.”

so in the end, nothing is beautiful and true, except life.
it’s difficult, it’s hard, it’s.. it’s necessary.
That’s the most frustrating thing I can think of, honestly.
Life is god damn fucking hard, and we don’t need people pushing and prying and trying to make us change before we want to, before we’re ready.
We don’t need someone telling us we aren’t worth it,  that we need to be ourselves, “but not like that.”

“Be whatever you are right now. No more hiding. You are worthy, always.”

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