It’s about not being able to forget

I remember saying no.

I remember the weight of his body holding me down

I remember crying

Pleading

Fighting

I remember not feeling and hurting all at once

I remember the disgust

I hated him… Honestly I still do

I hated myself… I don’t anymore but I miss the person I could have been hadn’t he felt entitled to force himself into me.

I miss the bubbly, determined, happy little girl I used to be.

I miss the easy smiles and carefree way she saw the world

But mostly I miss the woman she would have become.

She wouldn’t reflexively pull away from men trying to be nice.

She would trust nice.

Nice wouldn’t just be a plot to lure her in.

Accidental brushing would be an accident.

And flirting would feel nice.

Instead I get to be jaded and angry and afraid.

Flirting still chills my soul.

Even if I rationally know it’s fine how can I trust my instincts?

After all wasn’t his brushing always accidental? His hands lightly touching my breast in an crowded hallway, or in a not so crowded classroom, or not so lightly as he held me down.

He made me afraid of men I knew.

He made me weary of men I trusted.

He made me terrified of men for flirting.

Why would anyone flirt with me? I am broken. I have nothing left to offer. He took it all.

He took it. He didn’t even allow me to foolishly give it away.

I won’t say I didn’t overcome it. I did.

I won’t say I didn’t gather the pieces and carried on. I did.

I won’t say I gave up on life.

I am still here. All patched up.

I am still attractive.

Guys look at me.

I have sex. Willing sex.

Sometimes I spent months without even considering what happened to me.

Sometimes it creeps out.

I never talk about it when it does.

I grow quieter, angrier and more frightened and as suddenly as it appeared it goes away.

My oldest friends call it the April Blues. Whenever someone new asks me what all that anger/sadness was all about, I just say: “Someone died on April 10th some years ago, I miss her” and I don’t feel like I am lying.

Twelve years ago someone died.

She was bubbly, determined and so very happy.

She was me but I will never be her again.

Maybe that’s just the way life goes.

Maybe we all end up missing the thirteen year old versions of ourselves.

That’s a nice thought.

I will hold onto that.

São Paulo

The way I see it

It really upset me.

Let me start by saying that she is a real bitch.

She was a bitch when she was 10 and that was even before she got boobs. She was that kind of bitch who pretends to be your friend and then insults you in front of everybody only so she could feel better about herself. The kind of girl who made you talk about your crush only to hit on him instantly after. There are just too stories to put here but you got the gist. She was a bitch.

Now, you may be thinking. Girl, relax, middle school was a long time ago. Maybe she is a nicer person now. Maybe she grew out of her bitch-ness. Except I know she didn’t.

How do I know that?

Her parents live in the same apartment building as my dad so I occasionally run into her.  And it is the same bullshit only 15 years later.  But that’s irrelevant because my relationship with her consists of 3 or 4 elevator rides a year and now that she is married probably less.

So, why I am upset?

Maybe because she did all the things I was expected to do but decided not to. She studied the field my parents expected me to study. She got the boring job that I too often declined. She bought a car instead of doing drunken backpacking in Europe. She moved in with a guy and then she got married.

Maybe I am not upset with her. Maybe I am upset with myself because I am 25 and not married (which has always been the plan). Maybe I am upset because when I decided to do the independent thing; the independent thinking; the independent being I didn’t realize that all my middle school dreams would be fulfilled by the girl who did the least independent thinking of all of us.

Maybe I am upset because I have just realized I never wanted to be 25 and married and that’s scary as hell. Especially because I don’t have any other plans.

I don’t know.

I just really hope that bitch is happy.

          - Why eating animals is wrong/right

          - Why we should be pro-life/ pro-choice

          - Why drugs should be legal/ remain illegal

          - Etc.

But do we really?

Because I don’t. I honestly don’t know the arguments. I do have opinions. I have my opinions about all of the topics above but I’ve come to realize they are just uniformed positions based on nothing other than me trying to be the person I expect myself to be. (Is that even remotely logical?)

But I digress. This is not entirely about me. This is about the arguments to everything and where everyone learns them.

I know it can’t be at school. I have never been one to miss lessons and although I would cut the occasional class I don’t think all the arguments were discussed on the few days I was absent.

Or maybe they were.

Maybe all teachers would wait for me to not be in class and discuss the really important topics. All that time I spent going to restrooms mid-class could have been used to tell everyone else drops of the arguments. Perhaps that is the secret. The arguments are passed in small portions and not to be discussed until the last one of them is given. And when the last one is given you’ve spent so much time mulling over all of them that you already have a formed decision and no longer needs to discuss them.

That’s the secret of opinions based on arguments, isn’t it?

That is actually pretty logical. I just don’t understand why there was a necessity of excluding me from it. I am perfectly capable of keeping a secret. Or at least more capable than some girls I went to high school with.

Extremely logical and that’s where I get more confused. If your opinions are based on so many arguments and everyone is supposed to know them why is it that every time we are having a conversation and you tell me your opinion and I ask for the arguments you always look at me like I am retarded? Haven’t you heard? I lost those classes! Please explain where you’re coming from. I promise to be open to it.

toocooltobehipster:

1. Open this tab.
2. Open this tab.
3. Open this tab.