I never would have wanted it in the first place

It pains.

It pains me how I cannot go through a day without you crossing my mind. I’m physically charged but my mind eats up all my strength. I’m always mentally exhausted. You fill up my mind. You’re all I think about.

And it pains.

It pains because I cannot talk to you. Yet whenever I get the chance, I brush you off because I don’t know what to tell you. I was afraid of the stupid things I might spit out; I was always afraid I’d annoy you.

And it pisses me off because girls who think this way are the type I hated.

She’s your typical weak, love stricken, timid little girl. The pushover. The type who won’t fight back. The type who couldn’t find the courage to speak up for herself. The type who thinks that silence is the correct answer. The type who always play it safe. The type who couldn’t stick up for her own opinion and beliefs, and in so trying, acts all tough and cool as if she could fight. The type who kept her feelings bottled up inside. The type who’s pathetically content admiring from afar.

She’s the girl who cries every night wishing to escape herself. The girl who thinks masking over her frustrations with grins and giggles makes her appear stronger. The girl who dangles hopelessly on a possibly nonexistent string.

I hated girls like that.

And maybe—sadly enough—it was because in the back of my mind, I am also that girl. That beneath this front I’m putting up, I am that weak, pathetic little girl. It’s all clumsy, disgusting emotions about girls. It’s all baloney. I hate how I couldn’t prove it otherwise.

I hate how for so long I thought I was discrete. For so long I thought I was part of the deviant population. It took me some time to realize that it was impossible to change one’s nature—that the girl I’ve grown to be the supposedly opposite of that was simply a demeanor, a mask I merely wore in relevant circumstances.

And it pains me. It pains me because I am now what I hated. I became what I hated. I became what I hated because I liked you.

A feeling of endearment; a longing for intimacy.

If I knew in the beginning this is how it’s going to be, I never would have wanted it in the first place.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s