025. I May Be Twenty-One, But I Still Angst Like a Thirteen-Year-Old Goth Girl.

There’s something about this beautiful night weather that doesn’t let me appreciate it; instead, whenever I get a night like this, I always think back to the worst times — all of which happened on nights like these.

Like the time I lost my first group of friends. And the time I realised I was losing my second group of friends — the ones who’d rescued me from a semester of misery and self-loathing and regret. And the time I really understood that in my family, nothing would ever, ever be the same again. There’s something about nice weather, a light breeze, and darkness that just brings out the times I wish I could forget, the times when I realise how absolutely alone I was and sometimes still am.

I miss so many things: I miss laughing with Maria and Mike; I miss understanding my sister, acting out silly pretend lives and having fun in a way we don’t know how to have fun anymore. I miss getting soup for Ariel when she had pneumonia; I miss karaoke with Taylor and Nicole. I miss midnight scavenger hunts with Ali and Joe and Billi and Martin. I miss that feeling of belonging without the paranoia that if I make one wrong move, I’ll be alone again. And sometimes I can shake it — sometimes.

And there are times when I wish I’d fought harder: fought to stay friends with the people I thought cared about me, who I violently cared about, or even tried to tell somebody that I was in love with them (or in like with them), and I wish I didn’t regret it so much afterwards.

I don’t really know where this post is going, aside from this: I sometimes feel more alone than anyone would ever think I am, and I don’t know how to tell people when I need reassurance or affection and I certainly don’t know how to tell them that I trust them with my life but I’m afraid that they might leave me if someone better comes along.

This is a sad sack of a post, but it makes no sense not to post it. It might be whiny, but it’d be cowardly not to just for the fear that someone will read it.


2 thoughts on “025. I May Be Twenty-One, But I Still Angst Like a Thirteen-Year-Old Goth Girl.

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 )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ 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 )


Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

%d bloggers like this: