“I was told

The average girl begins to plan her wedding at the age of 7

She picks the colors and the cake first

By the age of 10 

She knows time,

And location

By 17

She’s already chosen a gown

2 bridesmaids

And a maid of honor

By 23 

She’s waiting for a man

Who wont break out in hives when he hears the word “commitment”

Someone who doesn’t smell like a Band-Aid drenched in lonely 

Someone who isn’t a temporary solution to the empty side of the bed

Someone

Who’ll hold her hand like it’s the only one they’ve ever seen

To be honest

I don’t know what kind of tux I’ll be wearing

I have no clue what want my wedding will look like

But I imagine

The women who pins my last to hers

Will butterfly down the aisle

Like a 5 foot promise

I imagine

Her smile

Will be so large that you’ll see it on google maps

And know exactly where our wedding is being held

The woman that I plan to marry

Will have champagne in her walk

And I will get drunk on her footsteps

When the pastor asks

If I take this woman to be my wife

I will say yes before he finishes the sentence

I’ll apologize later for being impolite

But I will also explain him

That our first kiss happened 6 years ago

And I’ve been practicing my “Yes”

For past 2, 165 days

When people ask me about my wedding

I never really know what to say

But when they ask me about my future wife

I always tell them

Her eyes are the only Christmas lights that deserve to be seen all year long

I say

She thinks too much

Misses her father

Loves to laugh

And she’s terrible at lying

Because her face never figured out how to do it correctly

I tell them

If my alarm clock sounded like her voice

My snooze button would collect dust 

I tell them

If she came in a bottle

I would drink her until my vision is blurry and my friends take away my keys

If she was a book

I would memorize her table of contents

I would read her cover-to-cover

Hoping to find typos

Just so we can both have a few things to work on

Because aren’t we all unfinished?

Don’t we all need a little editing?

Aren’t we all waiting to be proofread by someone?

Aren’t we all praying they will tell us that we make sense 

She don’t always make sense

But her imperfections are the things I love about her the most

I don’t know when I will be married

I don’t know where I will be married

But I do know this

Whenever I’m asked about my future wife

I always say

…She’s a lot like you”

This is the most perfect thing ever written.

Naïveté

I’ve always held ambivalence towards my body. I’m not genetically inclined to long limbs and high metabolisms, neither do I possess the discipline to maintain abstinence from calorific desserts. The struggle to accept my body is a far greater one than saying no to that banoffee tart(omg I love banoffee tarts) though and maybe in my desperation to achieve the body of my dreams it’s the exact stumbling block that stands in my way. In a world plainly obsessed with love whether it’s for superficial things or grandiose or that one person you cannot will your heart to forget to nameless tongues to just fucking loving the intricate system of cells and muscles that enable you to function, that final example is the toughest one to succeed at. I cannot love myself. So I sit here and hope. That someone’s going to walk into my life and cross-examine me like a porcelain vase on a mantle and possibly render me delicate and beautiful enough to house. And in that house I’ll seek refuge in a love I cannot even offer to myself. It’s sort of tragic. In fact, this handicap often makes me reconsider my ability to love someone. Maybe I’m too weak to love, maybe I’m too naive, maybe I’m too careless, maybe I’m too impatient, maybe I’m too needy, maybe I’m too damn difficult to love.

I’m sorry. 
I wouldn’t choose to love me either.

Don't swallow the cap

I can hardly stand up right.

I hit my head up on the light.

I have faith but don't believe it.

It's not there enough to leave it.

Everything I love is on the table.

Everything I love is out to sea.

I have only two emotions,

careful fear and dead devotion.

I can't get the balance right,

with all my marbles in the fight.

I see all the ones I went for,

all the things I had it in for.

I won't cry until I hear,

because I was not supposed to be here

I'm tired. I'm freezing. I'm dumb.

When it gets so late I forget everyone.

I need somewhere to stay.

I don't think anybody I know is awake.

Calm down, it's alright,

keep my arms the rest of the night.

When they ask what do I see,

I say a bright white beautiful heaven hanging over me.

This post is going to contain a hell lot of reiterations, incoherency, pity, disgust, I can't think. Don't think, just write, just put it all down, I decide. I don't know who to talk to anymore, what to do, all I want to do is cry. Be alone, but yet I want people to ask me how I am, but then again not, I'll just break down in front of the entire caf and hate myself for being so fucking weak. For making my friends around me feel so god damn uncomfortable, conversation ceases and I bet they're all thinking, what the hell is up with her she's always like that nowadays. Suddenly, everybody seems to occupied with what they were previously fiddling with, wanting to avert their gazes, away, away from the pathetic, unstable freak of a girl. Friends. Since exiling myself, I don't know if I still have any. Friends are not acting like friends. Emotions, stronger than the most devastating 2am text or the lack of, when things are left unsettled. I just keep crying. It's so stupid, I can't make sense of anything. Stoicism is a comfortable camouflage already. Camouflage because inside of me feelings are imploding and exploding through every exhausted cell. If I were in a better mood I might snicker at the irony. Putting up a false front never seemed easier, but also a pain in the ass to keep up.

I've never been an angry person.

I'm pretty damn fucking angry right now. Or maybe I'm at a loss. I don't know. 3 words that sum it all. I don't know how to put an end to this quotidian nightmare. I hate how I can't write anymore, not GP, not poetry, not even a blog post. Nothing is working, it feels like somewhere along the course of the past month I let the good parts of me slip away, completely unaware. I've never had to pause so long before typing a sentence and then cursing myself in my head because it is nothing short of banal; hackneyed. Reading older posts, I was happy. So happy, it seems. So inspired, things were beautiful. Maybe they still are, but my judgement is so thick with the smog that is my negativity, failure. Maybe I'm blind, maybe there is beauty. Far, far away from where I stand though, that I am positive. Positive. The first thing that comes to mind is some physics definition I was forced to memorize. I inwardly wince at that, I always want to break something when people ask me to memorize things. I guess the system has overwritten human emotion with useless facts and formulae. That's sad. I'm sad.

I don't know.

I want to be alone and I want people to notice me — both at the same time.

-Thom Yorke

You're fucking everything up Trish so don't you dare ask why if he leaves 

Having recently deleted my twitter app, this is my only outlet to put down my thoughts. Those that as of late have been highly depressing. I am toying with extreme ideas more than I ever used to. Completely floored in the most devastating way by the intensity of such ill-feelings. I'm not particularly fluent in keeping myself together but I'm ashamed of the number of meltdowns I've experienced throughout this duration. I'm at the point where you no longer yearn for the pandering of others but you recoil in disgust for the depth of which you stoop. The depths of what you are drowning yourself in. Sure, I cry, but not easily. Yet I feel the sickening smarting of pompous tears gathering at my eyes like demons summoned to taunt; numerous times of the day. Can't seem to stop them nor resist their provocations. I'm weak, I learn, weaker than I've ever been. I feel so disconnected from my friends, family and myself. I take back all I said about JC life being a long shot from the complaints made by wrung-out students. 

I am that wrung-out student contemplating seeking counseling, at a total loss.

It's one thing to be frighteningly uncertain about the future, another to be losing grip on your religion, and a whole other story to have the two simultaneously happening while you watch the rest of the world doing way better than yourself. Comparisons are self-inflicting in nature but irresistible. 

Everybody tells me it's okay, I'll be fine, it's just BT2, but I don't know if the psychological scarring can ever be reversed. I don't know if this self-doubt can be wrenched out by it's roots, the land made fertile again. I'm in a daze half the time just mulling over these thoughts. I hate who this has made me.

It all seemed easy but now the option of retaking j2 may become a near reality. I can't stop thinking about how fingers will point to my relationship first chance, how this may actually be a mistake from the beginning, how my hopes for the future are dashed, how everything I touch loses its gleam. How I manage to fuck everything up.