Espere hasta el ultimo minuto. Preferi dormir y estár inconsciente, en vez de estar despierta y agonizar con cada minuto que me acercaba a la cruda verdad:
Lo que a sido la base de nuestra conversación por la mayoría de nuestra amistad ya no importaba... ya era cosa perdida.
Y así fue: silencio.
A lot of shit happens in four years.
A lot.
Four years ago I was still very fat.
Four years ago I had yet to try my hand at grad school applications (and eventual rejections).
Four years ago I still had Tyson.
Four years ago I was-- incredibly-- less heartbroken than I am today.
Seventeen years were spent thinking that life would get better if I lost weight. Middle school, high school, and college spent thinking that one day, one day I'd actually find a way to drop weight... and when that day would come, I would be treated like a person... even possibly be liked.
Weight came off, and all these thoughts proved to be massively incorrect. Instead of all problems magically dissolving, and happiness magically replacing them, problems only reached a new degree. Suddenly, I had this new problem where some dudes were hating on me for not allowing them to treat me like a sleazy whore. The amount of insults lunged at me rose EXPONENTIALLY. Anything form "slut" (which... how is that possible if I'm NOT fucking ANYONE?), to "bitch" (not a new one), to "crazy," and an extraordinarily high amount of insults along the "dyke" line. I have never been accused of homosexuality as much as I have now at a lighter weight. Public humiliation of me has risen as well... this is definitely something I did not miss from my childhood... and now in adulthood, I find the humiliating events a little more public than they were in grade school-- bars an clubs have many more people in them... people who STILL don't do a thing to defend you. And still, still you aren't good enough, smart enough, pretty enough for the only one you give a shit about.
That grad school thing... well, no need to elaborate. Just that whole thing about me losing so much of my soul. I've seemed to patch that up by simply refusing to acknowledge it... blocked it out of my mind. But you know who did beast that shit? ...
Tyson. I met a new, much more painful version of heartbreak... heartbreak I now refuse to ever endure again. I will never again own a pet. I was also introduced to a different version of loneliness... a new level. A couple of hours after y'all chilled... Boom! Goodbye, Tyson.
There was a tiny intermission in the shitty times... an intermission that can be grouped altogether to less than a week. A week in four years. A single week where I felt as though I was floating on air... dancing on clouds.
But there's that pesky problem about flying so high-- the higher you rise, the harder you fall... the more painful, debilitating the fall.
I crashed hard... so. fucking. hard.
So.
Fucking.
Hard.
"Just another girl. Nothing more, nothing less."
"He told me not to cockblock..."
"I KNOW NOTHING'S WRONG WITH ME! She's the one with the mental problems! SHE needs to work on herself!"
I think of it all and the only thing my mind thinks, and repeatedly asks, is "How could you?"
I know I shouldn't even ask... the answer has always been there: because you never mattered, homegirl.
But my mind can't stop asking... my eyes always implore an answer when I catch my reflection in a mirror.
I apologize for the sad post... I've really been trying to be cheerful... or at least abstain from ranting or venting sad shit when I'm not having the best of day... but you see, he has been present in my mind lately.
He lived up to the hype I always said he was capable of. He reached the goal I always optimistically assured him he'd achieve-- not that I did it often, but when the subject was mentioned, and he'd go off on some pessimistic humble shit, and I'd always tell him to shut the fuck up and cut the shit... well, maybe a little less vulgar than that.
Brilliant, you're fucking brilliant. You always have been, and you always will be. I said it once, and I'll always say it.
He's a badass, officially a badass-- now verifiable to anyone and everyone... not just some timid girl with an unwavering affection for him.
Remembering our conversations of the last ten years has me nostalgic... but I'm especially nostalgic because we're currently in the middle of the only thing I could ever really talk to him about that wasn't school-related-- the World Cup.
Each time Cristiano Ronaldo was involved, I was sure to hear from him.
I lived for these occasions. A single sentence from him would brighten my week. You can ask anyone, they'd be able to tell you how I'd just beam with joy "randomly."
He'd never remember my birthday... or perhaps it was just a lack of caring for it... but major soccer events? That was my thing with him.
I waited until the last second before the game today... and then again until the day came to an end.
Silence.
Nothing.
A lot of shit happens in four years.
Just another girl-- indeed I am.
Lo que a sido la base de nuestra conversación por la mayoría de nuestra amistad ya no importaba... ya era cosa perdida.
Y así fue: silencio.
A lot of shit happens in four years.
A lot.
Four years ago I was still very fat.
Four years ago I had yet to try my hand at grad school applications (and eventual rejections).
Four years ago I still had Tyson.
Four years ago I was-- incredibly-- less heartbroken than I am today.
Seventeen years were spent thinking that life would get better if I lost weight. Middle school, high school, and college spent thinking that one day, one day I'd actually find a way to drop weight... and when that day would come, I would be treated like a person... even possibly be liked.
Weight came off, and all these thoughts proved to be massively incorrect. Instead of all problems magically dissolving, and happiness magically replacing them, problems only reached a new degree. Suddenly, I had this new problem where some dudes were hating on me for not allowing them to treat me like a sleazy whore. The amount of insults lunged at me rose EXPONENTIALLY. Anything form "slut" (which... how is that possible if I'm NOT fucking ANYONE?), to "bitch" (not a new one), to "crazy," and an extraordinarily high amount of insults along the "dyke" line. I have never been accused of homosexuality as much as I have now at a lighter weight. Public humiliation of me has risen as well... this is definitely something I did not miss from my childhood... and now in adulthood, I find the humiliating events a little more public than they were in grade school-- bars an clubs have many more people in them... people who STILL don't do a thing to defend you. And still, still you aren't good enough, smart enough, pretty enough for the only one you give a shit about.
That grad school thing... well, no need to elaborate. Just that whole thing about me losing so much of my soul. I've seemed to patch that up by simply refusing to acknowledge it... blocked it out of my mind. But you know who did beast that shit? ...
Tyson. I met a new, much more painful version of heartbreak... heartbreak I now refuse to ever endure again. I will never again own a pet. I was also introduced to a different version of loneliness... a new level. A couple of hours after y'all chilled... Boom! Goodbye, Tyson.
There was a tiny intermission in the shitty times... an intermission that can be grouped altogether to less than a week. A week in four years. A single week where I felt as though I was floating on air... dancing on clouds.
But there's that pesky problem about flying so high-- the higher you rise, the harder you fall... the more painful, debilitating the fall.
I crashed hard... so. fucking. hard.
So.
Fucking.
Hard.
"Just another girl. Nothing more, nothing less."
"He told me not to cockblock..."
"I KNOW NOTHING'S WRONG WITH ME! She's the one with the mental problems! SHE needs to work on herself!"
I think of it all and the only thing my mind thinks, and repeatedly asks, is "How could you?"
I know I shouldn't even ask... the answer has always been there: because you never mattered, homegirl.
But my mind can't stop asking... my eyes always implore an answer when I catch my reflection in a mirror.
I apologize for the sad post... I've really been trying to be cheerful... or at least abstain from ranting or venting sad shit when I'm not having the best of day... but you see, he has been present in my mind lately.
He lived up to the hype I always said he was capable of. He reached the goal I always optimistically assured him he'd achieve-- not that I did it often, but when the subject was mentioned, and he'd go off on some pessimistic humble shit, and I'd always tell him to shut the fuck up and cut the shit... well, maybe a little less vulgar than that.
Brilliant, you're fucking brilliant. You always have been, and you always will be. I said it once, and I'll always say it.
He's a badass, officially a badass-- now verifiable to anyone and everyone... not just some timid girl with an unwavering affection for him.
Remembering our conversations of the last ten years has me nostalgic... but I'm especially nostalgic because we're currently in the middle of the only thing I could ever really talk to him about that wasn't school-related-- the World Cup.
Each time Cristiano Ronaldo was involved, I was sure to hear from him.
I lived for these occasions. A single sentence from him would brighten my week. You can ask anyone, they'd be able to tell you how I'd just beam with joy "randomly."
He'd never remember my birthday... or perhaps it was just a lack of caring for it... but major soccer events? That was my thing with him.
I waited until the last second before the game today... and then again until the day came to an end.
Silence.
Nothing.
A lot of shit happens in four years.
Just another girl-- indeed I am.
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