chatting to my best friends, blocking the world out with good music, acting like a complete fanny at gigs, smoking the odd few fags, grannying up with cups of tea, drowning sorrows in glasses of rosé wine, decorating my wrist with a thousand ribbons, tramping about dalry, reading, watching and obssessing over the world of harry potter, swearing way too much, drinking my body weight in irn-bru, pouting in many shades of bright lipstick, wearing geeky glasses, defining life with song lyrics, smelling boys aftershave, buying new clothes, wishing i had ginger hair, taking photos, spending too much time on facebook & twitter, watching friends at all hours, wearing out my converse, having a glass-half-empty approach to life, finding me at my dressiest in brogues, hating high heels, loving hats, wanting tattoos, owning a big yarnball of hair, having sing-songs & snuggles. wishing i was born early enough to see the beatles, but glad i'm not old enough for arctic monkeys. having a ten year old pet cat as a best friend, wishing i had freckles..♥
Everything is ok.
I feel like this is the only place I can post something actually real for a second, whilst still retaining some anonymity so as not to come off attention-seeking or whatever.
I just feel so alone, all the time and that I’ve lost out on everything. I literally have nothing left that’s good enough to make me happy anymore, and although that sounds selfish, I have good reason. Yet I still don’t want to admit every problem because it makes me weak. I don’t like asking for help, not because I find it difficult to ask for it, but because I’m scared nobody will give me it.
I’m a jealous person by default, but I can’t stand seeing you with another girl. My heart has literally been broken and taped back up so many times that I don’t think it can handle the next one. I’m not a stupid little girl, I know we’re friends, if even that, but that’s it. I’m not good enough for you even though you preach that it’s all about what’s on the inside, I know in reality that you’re lying.
I can’t talk to any of the friends I seem to have left anymore because they’re all sick of me talking about you. I don’t even want to try and talk it through with them because all I ever get is some repetitive, uncaring reply, and then we go back to talking about their big problems. I don’t want a spotlight of attention, I just needed to write things down.
Every time I talk to you it seems I’m in a better mood, and I just don’t want anyone to take that away from me, even though I know you say the same shit to every girl you probably have on the go, there was actually one second where I thought we we’re different. I was kidding myself.
I always daydream about what we could be, not the futile acquaintance we actually have. You don’t even acknowledge me and then let me accept your petty little excuses later. I just wish we were as perfect for eachother in your mind as we are in mine.
Then there’s the fact that me, my mum and my cat are living on £50 a week, my best friend has become a stranger to me and the realisation that my only outlet is tumblr.
Enough to panic I suppose, but I’ll just leave any more complaining to someone else and go on pretending that everything is ok.
