Friday, July 27, 2012

048

I've been wanting to write for the past day and a half or so, but nothing seems right.  Everything seems too personal for a public blog.  I've rehashed everything to all of my friends a dozen times, but it still doesn't seem real.  Things just sort of crumbled in a matter of days.

I think the worst part is that while I understand all the reasoning, I can't accept it.  The thing I love most about Walter is that he makes me feel young.  We talked a lot about how I went to college and had time to mature, but I don't really feel like I ever had the opportunity to be crazy and stupid.  I joined my sorority in my sophomore year, and it was one of the greatest decisions I made.  However, with that, I was expected to hold myself to a higher standard.  I matured more quickly than I realized.  And then I met Walter.  He gave me a Nerf gun for Christmas, and that can almost sum up our relationship.  Sure, sometimes he'd drive me crazy, but I loved every minute of insanity that i experienced with him.  I wish I could tell him that.  I wish I could tell him that his maturity never mattered to me--that it was exactly what I needed, that I looked forward to seeing him grow and mature on his own time.  But now I can't even do that.  I can't muster up the courage to even text him, because that means clinging to him--something that could, for all I know, drive him further away.  So I wait.  I stare at my phone for hours, just wishing he would text me and say anything, so I'd know how to act and how to talk to him.

This wasn't meant to turn into something sad.  This was supposed to be a way for me to embrace what we had and share the love I felt, the love I still feel.  Maybe this will make sense to someone out there, and someone can give me some advice, because I'm more lost than I've ever been.

Saturday, July 21, 2012

047

I haven't written in a long time, but I really need to because I can't get things off my mind.

When I'm upset, I bottle things up inside, and very few people know that anything is bothering me--not even the people who know me best.  I internalize my feelings, which has always been my biggest reasons for writing.  Writing is the only way I know how to express the uncomfortable things I need to talk about.  I started writing after my aunt died when I was twelve.  That was the first time I recall being depressed, and there was no one I knew that I could talk to about my feelings, so I turned to loose leaf paper and a pencil.  Since then, things have changed; now I tend to reach out to this blog or a Word Document, other times my purple pen and my leather-bound journal that a friend gave me. 

So that's why I'm writing tonight, because whether I want to admit it or not, I'm feeling anxious and insecure, and even if I don't say it aloud, I'm beginning to express how I'm feeling.