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SMALL TALK: hot showers
Tag / blogging
GIRL SPEAKS: tiger stripes
* trigger warning: self-harm*
for the past few weeks, ive been dreaming of relapse – of gliding the cold shiny tip of the blade along my skin, of a well deserved self-punishment for the attributes i lack and for the toxicity ive put forth.
im tired of making everyone around me miserable, of constantly shattering like a ticking emotional time bomb. im tired of forcing everyone to dance around me just to appease my fragile ego. im tired of being me, an unworthy, spiteful little bitch who cant appreciate the accomplishments of others because im so boggled down by the voice in my head.
and i hate myself for that – for not being stronger, for not making more money or having that financial stability, for not being a supportive girlfriend, for pushing everyone away, for being a complete monster to the one person whos supposed to matter most.
i did it last night, an impulse action on my end (and im so sorry, im not strong enough – im not enough, period).
i gave myself some more tiger stripes last night, running the x-acto blade in long horizontal lines, letting the beads of blood drip down onto the pink tile floors of our bathroom as i kept the door locked.
and it was my boyfriend who came to my rescue (why are you always saving me?), taking initiative to clean me up, bandaids to stop the bleeding. it was my boyfriend who had to wipe the blood off our bathroom floor because i was (am) too catatonic and broken to take care of myself.
so im sorry, for not being enough. i dont deserve him, especially with all the gentleness and care hes handled me with as i throw child-like tantrums, reuniting with my old coping mechanisms.
i deserve it – this self-punishment, this heaviness of being unworthy. and id be lying if i admit it wasnt satisfying, to turn the knife on myself because i keep hurting the ones i love the most.
i fucking deserve it – these red gashes on my upper thigh, the tiger stripes formed in moments of weakness.
im never going to amount to anything, and i just dont understand what the point is anymore of my aimless little life.
im just a moody little nobody, and i dont deserve the kindness or the love or the sympathy.
GFY, fleur
SMALL TALK: 27
GIRL SPEAKS: 7 years later
i remember when i had first spoken to you – september 18, 2010; a date thats been engrained in my memory, the password to my iphone for all thats worth.
i was 19 when you died (it still feels so strange saying that you had died – even more bizarre that its been over 7 years since then and the words still sting). when i first learned that you had passed away, it was like a sucker punch to the gut.
you were one of the strongest people i knew, and i envied you for your confidence, boldness throughout our friendship.
when did the world dull that inner radiance you wore so well?
im sorry i never tried harder to keep in touch. im still shitty at keeping in touch (too many thoughts for my little brain to process).
i still think about you. a few days ago when i was back in my parents house, back in my childhood bedroom, i went through my sophomore yearbook.
your message was the first one i saw – i mean, it was inevitable since you wrote on the cover, your note scribbled in purple sharpie, mostly written in german with a hint to use google translate. i never translated your message and maybe that was a good thing. maybe knowing what you had actually said would make it lose its magic, the mystery of it all.
in english, you had written that you love and will miss me (you were going to boarding school the following year).
im sorry i never told you how much you mean to me. its always been second nature to pretend i care less than i genuinely did (i guess i still do this – a defense mechanism and all?).
im sorry, for not telling you that i give a shit about you, that you matter. the “i love yous” mean nothing if youre not in this orbit anymore.
if i say it now, could you hear me?
and i wonder what youd think of me today, if youre currently looking down on me from wherever you are in the afterlife.
are you disappointed, are you proud?
this is my first time writing about (to) you in years. to be fair, i had a writing hiatus as i found more comfort in drugs, intoxication and recklessness to drown out the sorrows, the guilt and the regret.
i wonder if you know about all the external chaos in my life (and the internal chaos that i hold privately).
i never wanted to be, the person you see,
but thank you.
thank you for giving me the voice i needed to find so badly when i met you at 15, the boldness i held because of you (up until my 2019 breakdown). im trying to find it again.
can you help me?
i still think about you, even seven years later.
GFY, fleur
GIRL SPEAKS: selective mutism
i can pin point when it all started, when i just stopped talking, opting to bottle every emotion i had and letting the heaviness (the burden of carrying this weight) rot me from the insides. it was memorial day weekend of 2019, my return home after graduating from college and learning to navigate (or at least trying to) a long-distance relationship with my boyfriend after living with him for months.
i hate change. maybe thats obvious at this point. too much change, and i crack completely (orchid children or whatever they call it, the fragile ones prone to breaking).
i hated living in houston for pretty much the entire time that i was there for college, retreating back to my hometown the second i finished my last in-person final, spirit flights purchased on impulse out of the need to be home.
you changed that. my last year in houston was by far my favorite, and its all thanks to you. i owe you for that, for making the best year of my houston/college experience, for being part of my story; i cherish those days when things between us were just easy, light and i just really fucking loved you.
i was happy. maybe the happiest id ever been.
i dont even know if im capable of that happiness anymore.
and on my final year, i found myself struggling to let go of that dirty, old houston apartment, even though the apartment has smelled like cat piss since we moved in and no amount of baking soda or professional cleaners and products had been able to successfully eliminate the atrocious scent. but that apartments important, monumental; because thats where we began, thats where our story started.
sometimes i wonder if those days are gone for good, that our lives together will ever feel as pivotal as it was back then and all i needed was you. and i wonder if we hold on to these memories too tightly, and were just lying to ourselves to try to make “us” work.
what changed between us? did we already reach our peak, and all thats destined is the inevitable fall?
i need clarity, so fucking badly (ive even reached out to my psychic, since all her predictions have come to pass and the universe refuses to offer me a sign).
and i cant stop thinking about when things went south with us, why i cant stop snapping at you lately, what happened between us to make conversations more scarce to the point of just pure silence. i cant stop being a bitch to you and i know im going to push you away, and maybe i already have.
i miss “us,” the old “us,” and i mourn that loss everyday as i continue to give you the silent treatment, plotting my escape to my parents house just for the sake of running away.
im shutting you out – i know i am. i just cant help it, imagining the worst case scenarios, that youll leave me because i dont think i make you happy.
maybe theres still a part of me that resents you for putting me through a long-distance relationship in the first place (through no fault of your own). youre here now; physically, i guess i am too but mentally, ive been checked out, engulfed in my own world, consuming thoughts.
you werent there when i needed you the most and maybe theres a part of me thats unable to forgive you for that. you werent there that night my 16 year-old maltese passed away, when i received that frenzied phone call from my parents while out to dinner with our friends. they said he wasnt able to hold his head up, and doesnt seem to be lucid, that were losing him.
you werent there when my mom told me my nanny/my third grandmother died due to surgery complications when i was in my last semester of college. my parents never fucking told me when it happened. conveniently my mom had to tell me this immediately after my dogs passing (great timing, mother).
it signaled an end of an era – the end of college, the end of childhood itself with the combined losses of my dog and my nanny, someone i had gone to visit each time i returned. the last time i saw her, i had a breakdown. maybe even then, i knew i would never see her again.
too much change, too many endings – so i stopped talking. i shut the world off, closing the blinds and surrounding myself with my thoughts. i kept (keep) everyone at a distance, and the shift was palpable.
these days it seems like anger is my primary reaction to everything, and i cant seem to find a balance in any aspect of my life; not with my boyfriend, not with my friends, not within myself.
“im gonna tell you how it is, dont give a shit about how you feel.”
im trying to find my voice again, to have the ownership and power of my own words. i need to be in control of my life again.
“look me right inside my eyes and you tell me the truth.”
what exactly do you even see anymore?
emptiness and sadness built on resentment, selective mutism, and the refusal to forgive, but maybe a slight glimmer of hope (the light at the end of the tunnel). thats what youll see.
GFY, fleur
GIRL SPEAKS: (S)ugar (H)oney (I)ce (T)ea
id like to think im self-sufficient, despite reckless shopping on stupid expensive shit while on klonopin and the occasional treat for myself (maybe more often than most). think $100 supreme t-shirts and mini mini jacquemus joke bags that cant even fit my keys.
i make enough to support myself even though my credit card bills through the roof right now, but if i just learned how to reign in the excessive shopping i think id be able to be in a “better financial place.”
maybe the shopping has truly become an addiction, just something to fill the void in my heart because my life always feels like theres a missing chunk. the idea of a package arriving and having something to look forward to, the ownership aspect of possessing pretty things to display and show off becomes your means of moving forward, deal with the pain in the ass we call life. sometimes its hard planning for a future when you dont really have a direction.
its all so superficial, but i need it (for my wellbeing). maybe in a world thats painted by material objects and possessions, im just the byproduct of a consumer-driven, hierarchy-obsessed society.
so really, who can truly blame me?
everyone is always looking for “more.” and enough never really feels like “enough.”
theres so much pride in appearance, the vanity of it all – in clothes, designer accessories; in having your eyebrows threaded, the arched shape i like maintained; in perfectly manicured nails that scream, “im fucking put together” (my version of self-care, in its purest form).
and theres pride in my career – being validated for doing a good job from my higher ups, recognition showcased with a recent raise and five additional vacation days per year after my latest performance review. being able to support myself, the freedom to afford the things i want (kind of).
at least there was pride in my career.
im not sure why everything in my life has to translate to a competition – who holds the better stories with the biggest “wow” factor, whos the skinniest or the prettiest, whos more successful with the most income, making the most of the time theyre given.
and i know im supposed to be happy for my boyfriend and his new sparkling job offer. hes been struggling for years and ive tried (from the depth of my core) to be supportive. he had clawed his way out of university, fought his way through a severely underpaid job with barely any benefits and no overtime pay. and finally, he found a job that suddenly would pay him double the amount im paid (including my raise). six-digit salary, and im completely fucking shook.
makes one feel inferior, no?
i want to be happy for him, but its so fucking difficult to be, knowing this tremendous change would make him somehow superior to me. i dont want him to think less of me and id rather be the one to leave than be the one left.
“i think were too close for comfort / so dont rock the boat, dont calm the storm.”
all i ever wanted in a relationship was to be equals. and we had that – similar in pay, similar and shared sensitivity amongst our inner circle. the shared anxiety of wanting to be better and im doubtful he can relate now since he got his fucking wish, of making six figures – that because of that, i feel less than than him, and im no longer comfortable with him.
were not equals anymore. and growing up in a world painted by competition, i cant stop comparing myself to others, not even someone whos supposed to be my “partner” or whatever.
were not equals anymore – the scale has tipped (in his favor), the balance fucked and offset, and i lose once again.
the equilibrium is off as is (even though he starts his new job in two weeks). id rather be alone than be with someone who looks down on me.
and i dont know what this holds for me, what it means for us, and where i stand in this relationship. my bets are that everything between us is doomed to fail (but maybe its my inner pessimist speaking).
so just leave a message after the tone.
GFY, fleur
GIRL SPEAKS: girl who spins the thread into gold
i admit that im wrong about going unnoticed, that everyone around me is just so blinded by their own lives that mine is put on the backburner. maybe it just took some triggering, toxic commentary from peripheral friends to finally push me off the edge, the courage to confront my qualms and manifest my own reality. like mount vesuvius, i finally blew the fuck up, at those who ive felt wronged by in the past, the present; at innocent bystanders that stand witness to my breakdown (via text).
as they say (cliche as fuck, i know) – a few bad apples can ruin the whole batch.
i dont hate my friends (at least not my core group). i dont think i ever can. yes, i still have qualms regarding certain people but maybe this is the sign ive been looking for, the affirmation i needed all along. maybe i just wanted to put my pain on display, tattooed on my forehead for all to see (and feel pity for, we all love some self-pity).
what i say fucking matters. and maybe it just took for me no longer giving a shit, saying the words ive held in my heart, spilled out like word vomit onto my site – my safe space – to realize that.
i dont need to be a people pleaser; i used to have my voice. i just need to find it again.
there was a palpable shift, and theres validation in knowing im not the only one who felt it, recognized it. ive been detached from the world (for quite some time now).
its not all in my head.
and i didnt used to be like this – at least not the version of me that i didnt not like. today, my friend had pointed out how i used to be loud; i was bold, unafraid to speak my mind. but at some point, i lost myself – i lost my voice, my personality, everything that ive fucking prided myself in.
and one day, the thoughts inside my head became too much to tolerate, too much loss, tragedy, and the added layer of isolation – i just crumbled.
i stopped letting people in, even those who have helped me during my darkest days (everyone except my twin, of course – she knows everything there is to know about me).
i stopped talking, letting the dark emotions engulf me, selective mutism, my vow of silence or whatever. in a way, ive stopped trying, overwhelmed by the anxiety of the world and how it orbits, the people that spin with it as i stand completely still.
i tell stories of the days when my life had shine and allure – stories of the degenerates i had surrounded myself with (the fucked up and amusement), twisted tinder dates that had shaped me into who i am, someone who was definitely entertaining and fun, but also toxic. nothing is meant to last forever, not them and not me – but at least the stories will, and they are mine to keep.
im still lost – just a shell of who i used to be, letting my personality fade away with every word unspoken, every thought or negative comment festering in my brain, making it rot away.
but once, i was one one who spun the thread into gold, and one day, ill be that person again. and the stories i create – theyll be unmatched, a spectacle thatll have its own personality and voice too.
GFY, fleur
GIRL SPEAKS: mememe (do i sound like a joke when im talking to you?)
i hate forced positivity. its so toxic and fake, plastering on a smile for the sake of someone elses wellbeing even though your silent wounds ache.
its always about everyone else, isnt it? everyone else – anyone else but me. each day since entering 27, i just seem to get more transparent. ill eventually become one with the background, vanishing into nothing. im trapped in a soundproof glass box thats my life, and i need an escape.
phantom pain – going unspoken about, untended to. were all hurting and no one gives a damn (especially if they dont know).
theres a part of me that stays silent because i dont believe that others deserve to know what im thinking at the core, how i feel about them, whether theyve done something to bother me to the point of these happenings living rentfree.
if i said all the things i want to say, id probably be left by everyone (and maybe its time to make my peace with that).
words bite – both mine and theirs. and “forgiveness” isnt an emotional attribute that im capable of, foreign to my vocabulary completely. if i dont forget, i cannot forgive.
but silence and unknowing – that might be worse to receive versus a confrontation. forever a guessing game, and whether one rude comment would push me over the edge and the silence that follows, thats up to their own interpretation.
so ill leave apology texts unread, issues unresolved for weeks while i simmer in my anger, boiling into hatred. silent pain on both parties, but at least im in control.
theres another part of me that holds everything in my heart because i truly believe they wouldnt give a fuck, that no one gives a rats ass about me and my fragile emotions.
ive befriended my pain, my misery. its a part of me, my secret to hold, my comfort to keep. ive learned to rely on it (the misery, and no one else). maybe once youve had enough practice – years, even – of playing the role of “ok,” you become the expert of hiding behind that mask.
i guess its such an easy game.
theres a weight, a heaviness that i cant get rid of because my mind keeps whispering to me that no one cares.
mememe – i cant help but wanting to make more conversations revolve around me. and i expect everyone around me to be psychic, dancing around my expectations and creating a me-centric world.
i thrive off attention.
the third part of me knows i have a delayed reaction to anger (and most other emotions) and i cant tell if my anger and dissatisfaction is justified or all in my head.
i dont really know me (in that case). whats real, whats fake – it all blends together and love immediately transforms into hate and sometimes back again, an endless cycle depending on how much they hear me.
maybe no one really knew me to begin with.
maybe youll never know anything about me.
GFY, fleur
GIRL SPEAKS: not your backup plan (but you may be mine)
at 7, i had no idea what a backup plan was, the whole meaning behind the concept, the insecurity nonexistent to my tiny little world – the innocence of it all. at 17, i made due with being the backup plan, filled with angst and self-loathing and bullshit – complacent and desperate for attention, and never truly happy, never truly worthy.
at 17, i hated myself. i hated my world, friendships so fake i couldnt even lie to myself about how much the core of these people irritated me – these people i once thought so highly about, put on a pedestal. boring, bland, basic – and i wanted so badly to be like them at one point in my life (no fucking idea why, maybe i just enjoy torturing myself) as much as they represent and illustrate everything ive learned to hate.
and like that, the main group (the one i had desired to be a part of for so long) got downgraded as i surrendered those deadend friendships in exchange for a smaller circle (only two from high school remain in my current orbit).
im 27 now (as of this week actually; cheers to the virgo/leo cusps). im 27 and i have not an earthly idea what im doing with my life. the curse of 27 is hitting at full force and all i can do is let myself spiral, silent sobs that go unheard because i dont exist.
if i tell that to myself enough times, will i disappear? (i dont exist, i dont exist, i dont exist).
maybe its all in my head, the assumption that everyone can treat me as temporary, tossed aside like trash and left to rot, forgotten. or maybe everyone has a personal hierarchy, a ranking of which friends they value most and im embodying the second-class citizen energy and bringing it to fruition.
there are so many happenings that take place in a decade.
people leave, people come back. ive made my peace with that. people are temporary – they dont matter and neither do i.
and at age 27, i realize i no longer have a backup plan (not with my friendships, not with my relationship), it just feels like im running out of friends.
i still remember the days where people in my life resided in different categories – there are “the primaries,” the friends you actually want (care) to be associated with, the ones with the privilege of priority. then there are “the secondaries” – they serve a purpose, reeking of desperation and approval, those ive bailed on once “the primaries” come calling.
if i call myself a second-class citizen in my own life, id be the first to admit to having a hierarchy, an order of who matters more.
and it amazes me, that five years ago, i was creating my own definition of chaos and reckless behavior but i always had a backup plan so id never be alone. guys queued up, ranked by how much i liked them – security blanket in the advent of rejection, but then again i always loved moping in private (my pity party), bottled up feelings and loud thoughts.
at 27, i think ive lost faith in the world – in my world – and i wonder if the nagging loneliness will ever leave for good.
i wonder whether its time to find some more unsuspecting, lonely-hearted people (temporary friends, so reminiscent of my past) to become victims to my backup plan, lining them up like plushies on an assembly belt, neatly packaging them away in boxes with gift wrap, only to be opened when needed, “secondary” friends like some fucked up consolation prize for all thats loved and lost.
“i told myself im tired of holding up your backup plans.”
this time, ill return as the one in control, curating my backup plans in case my current world fails to work out according to my plan.
maybe emotional attachment isnt for me, and if i need to let go of my life as it stands, ill need to be ready.
id rather be an asshole who plays with heartstrings than be alone.
GFY, fleur
GIRL SPEAKS: dark blue
does anyone else ever feel like a second class citizen in their own universe? as if those you chose to be your friends are always superior to you and you just exist in their realm for the sake of it.
ive always been the girl with a consistent friend group and a girl i call my twin that i met on tumblr who lives across the country; but ive also been the girl with the occasional new (and inconsistent) “best friend” popping into the picture, usually someone i just met and barely know but the we-must-must-must-hang-out somehow leads to something that vaguely resembles a friendship.
the foundations of these friendships (these temporary best friends) are built on loneliness and convenience. they usually end when i realize that i never intended for them to be my best friend in the first place, that i dont want to be like them or i just completely fucking hate their personality (after all, i already have a best friend, my twin).
these friendships, they never end well.
as for these unfortunate souls that sit in the “non-permanent” category, its usually infatuation on their part. the only reason id know that is because i know myself (and they dont know me) – i refuse to reach out, initiate or anything. at the same time i wouldnt say im shy; i guess some of us are just built more fragile (like porcelain dolls) and we just cant handle rejection, too arrogant to come off as desperate.
i keep these miserable people around even though i know are temporary (and that ill eventually reach a breaking point with them) all to soothe my injured ego, to make me feel superior in having a minion.
maybe im power hungry (or maybe im just a bitch).
maybe i dont get enough of that in my current friendships – the power-trip of having someone willing to bend backwards to please you, someone you can look down on and keep to make yourself feel better. the temporary friendships are never real, doomed to fail from the start.
its fucked up. im fucked up.
in the words of jacks mannequin, “have you ever been alone in a crowded room?”
its like everyones in on an inside joke that you just dont get, like i dont belong here (not in this friend group and not on this planet) and im just here for the convenience. and i think about whether theres too much history and mutual friends and acquaintances to just cut me out completely, as if im not worthy. i just exist among them, neither here nor there, a side character even in my own movie. existing but not participating, invisibility cloak and all with the “mute” button constantly on.
im ok – im always just ok.
“what could you possibly expect under this condition?”
at least when im here with you, the whole town feels less lonely, the water subsiding and im able to breathe; the chirps of my friends, conversations im not a part of, fading into the background and none of it fucking matters anyways.
“if youve ever been alone, youll know.”
and you do know – you know me better than i know myself and id be so completely lost without you. youve felt the same way in our universe, unheard and unseen.
so you know – and you see me, thats all that should matter.
GFY, fleur
pardon my emotions 