I’m in a constant state of analysis. I doubt whether I am good enough for myself or others. I will always believe that your achievements are more valuable than my own. Nothing I do will ever fulfill my standards.  I got a 94% on a test: Why couldn’t I have gotten two more points, or even better a 100%? I should’ve studied for more than the five hours I spent this morning scanning my notes and testing myself. I should’ve taken my time. I should’ve triple checked my answers, for I know I cannot do anything correctly the first time through. I should’ve known. I should’ve been better. It will never be enough. I am a failure by nature and mistakes are not something that I can take as a learning experience. I acknowledge that I will never be perfect, yet I continue to strive for a flawless reality.

I am skeptical of your feelings, especially the positive, praising ones. Most likely I will look for an underlying motive in your kindness. I will think that you want to manipulate me, make me feel a certain way about you so that you can more easily get what you want. I think you compliment me for some sick inner-joke. Everything has a dark, deeper meaning than its surface optimism. I will never trust that you care. I will never take what you say to heart. It simply goes to my brain where I neatly place it into a file entitled “Evidence of the Heartbreak”. I will recover all of these documents after you have broken my trust, which I assume is inevitable, and I will comfort myself by proving that I knew it was coming all along.  I will allow myself to cry. Only for a predetermined amount of time deemed acceptable for how long I let myself get attached. Then I will harden myself. I will close myself off, from the world, but more specifically from you. I pull myself from the bathroom floor and will make sure that I never let this happen again. I will be more careful next time.

I will not let you in. I cannot risk getting hurt again. I feel guilty for letting you see just a glimpse of who I really am on the inside. I haven’t figured her out yet, so you never will. I want to love so badly, but I feel undeserving. I see nothing in myself that others would find attractive. I see beauty in everyone, but in myself I see just a broken, screwed up little girl who can never please anyone. When you are around I let myself be fooled by the game. I feel that maybe, for the first time, someone could truly feel something for me more than contempt. But, when you leave, reality fills my pores and suffocates me. Why did I ever let you trick me? Why did I ever think you could feel something for me that I don’t feel I deserve. So I promise myself that I won’t let it happen next time. I will shut down, very slowly, as not to tip you off to my plan. It’s working. I inflict the pain and rejection on myself so that you never have to. It’s okay, I’ve got it covered. When you’re ready to leave, I will have laid the groundwork so that you can simply walk away with minimal damage. I do this because I care. I care more about how you feel than how much it will destroy me. You are more important. I want you to be happy, and I know that you will never find that in me. So I urge you to move on. Find the perfection in the world that I will never possess. It’s okay, I planned it this way.

I’m screwed up. I’ve been hurt. But, if I never show you who I am you can never really reject me. I put up walls that take years to tear down. I am easily deceived. I fall in love easily and quickly, but I cut myself off from my feelings to protect myself.

And, for some unbelievable reason I continue to care. I continue to get attached and admire, even covet your beauty. You are in my mind an unacceptable amount of time. I can keep myself from believing you care, yet I can’t keep myself from falling into the same pattern of letting you under my skin. I want you to hate me, or more specifically the persona I choose to present to you. It’s much easier that way. But, deep inside I really just want you to care for me as much as I do for you.

Maybe one day you’ll understand.


Boys Who Read

Thought Catalog

I’d like a boy who reads.

I’d like a boy that’s able to take me away into a journey, page by page, cover to cover. Glancing at me every once in a while when his pensive eyes get tired from glazing the pages of a paperback

I’d like a boy who reads.

I’d like a boy who likes the new-book smell and old-book smell just the same, one that understands the exhilaration of getting lost in the shelves, like a child in a toy store.

I’d like a boy who concentrates on the classics, his green tea fogging up his glasses,

and when he gets up to stretch, throwing me a smile and lending me a hand because we’ve both been on the hardwood floor for hours. He’d look me in the eyes and I’d know he’s happy I’m part of his reality.

I’d like a boy who reads.


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“I can never re…

“I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.” –Sylvia Plath