Today I Went to the Beach!

I desperately needed to reconnect with nature. Especially after how I've been feeling lately. But it is what it is, I cannot change what happened. All's left to do is to cope. Maybe writing this silly blog will help with that.

The beach was nice, I wish I didn't spend the whole time there talking about what had happened, but maybe it's just something to get through. 

I am actively listening to the new Gracie Abrams album, I hadn't gotten around to it til now, it's really good. She's proven she's good with her last album, but this one is really, really good. 

I saw a quote earlier that was nice and I feel the need to share it, "you wouldn't believe the kind of person I could become if you wanted it." It's basic, it's just Kafka, but I still like it.

My friends are sick of me talking about it, everybody is. But if I stop talking about it that means it's over, and that's something I'm not ready to face. He'd just be gone. I don't care how badly he screwed me over I'd do it all over again if it meant he'd give me one more second of thought. Not something I should publicly admit, but as I said earlier, maybe this blog will help me cope. 

I found the box I mentioned in an earlier blog, for all the letters I had written. I do not think I should keep them. I'm not sure what to do with them. But having them sit in my closet in a pretty little pink box all tied up in a bow isn't making me feel any better.

In high school my mom was in love with a boy. Let's name him Bill. Bill loved my mom, my mom loved Bill. Bill's mom hated my mom and she eventually overwhelmed him so much that he was forced to break up with my mom. She was crushed, she even spray painted that she loved him on the side of a building in an attempt to win him back. She had assumed they'd reconcile in the future, they had their whole lives ahead of them to, so she waited. 

Bill died a couple years ago. They hadn't spoken since high school. She'll never be able to speak to him again. He will never know she doesn't hate him, he will never know how much she still thinks of him. They'll never reconcile, they'll never even see each other again. He's gone forever and there is nothing she can do about it. 

I've grown up with her telling me to always tell people how I feel, no matter the result or how hard it is because there is no other way for them to know. So I told him how I felt, and he took advantage of that. He liked the attention until he didn't, he liked me until he didn't. He liked the convenience, he liked that I liked him. But he didn't like me. He won't remember that my favorite color is pink or that I love anything covered in glitter. He won't remember my love of stupid camouflage jokes or that all I wanted was for him to understand. He'll just remember that I liked him, and that is what he will look back fondly on. All I did was grow his ego. But he did so much more to me. 

Maybe I am unloveable, not to be dramatic, but let me explain. I am full of love. I love to love. I want to drown in love. It's like love is overflowing into my hands and seeping through the cracks of my fingers and falling onto everything in my life. Maybe I just love too much. I was born to love, but maybe not born to be loved. I make people happy, I try at least. I think that's my purpose. But I couldn't name somebody who loves me that isn't out of obligation. Why would they? Everything I touch seems to fall apart, I feel too much to keep anything steady. I'm too sensitive. 

But shouldn't being sensitive be better than feeling nothing? 

I keep my stuffed animals in a box under my bed, so none of them feel more special than the others. I switch out my earrings just so they all feel appreciated. I wear a necklace just because somebody I love told me it reminded them of me, I don't even think it's very pretty. I try my best to include everybody because I know how it feels to be excluded. I listen to music by album so the other songs on the record that aren't as popular don't feel left out. I use children's utensils so they don't feel like they've lost their purpose now that I've grown up. I always wear matching socks so one out of the pair is not more worn than the other, because what will happen when one has a hole and the other doesn't? Even if it does, I'll wear them together until they're both in shreds. I ruined this whole thing with this boy because I thought a medal meant more than nothing. Because it meant something to me. It meant a lot to me, and it just didn't mean anything at all to him. 

So, maybe I am unloveable. At least in the sense that nobody will love me in the way I love them. I will be the only person who remembers words I don't like, the only person to care about how I feel about certain plates. But I will also know who hates "tangerine" and who hates glass plates. 

I am overly emotional, and that is okay. I cry about roadkill and can't peel the smile off my face when I get too excited. 

But at least I have a heart.

I can only apologize that it's so big.

But, the beach was nice. The waves hit the shore where I walked and got my pants all wet. So now I sit here on my bed, in my salty sweats, trying to make sense of the jumble and bumble of emotions constantly reeling through my head. 

Even when I'm not thinking of what happened, it's there. It's over my head. Looming like a dark cloud. But I'd rather stand out in the cold rain with the idea of him, listening to the thunder and watching the lightning, than sit in the sun with not even a scrap of him. 

But, the clouds will pass and I'll be grateful for the shining sun. At least it's warm.