Elleliseahh: confusion

Showing posts with label confusion. Show all posts

November 17, 2011

#POST 27

I thought I would share my favourites from Tumblr. These are the ones that I have saved from the website and are now slide showing accross my laptop.I have no idea where they actually came from...

October 31, 2011

I just skimmed through the various posts of my dear friend Melissa. Can I just take a second to comment on how awesome this girl is? She’s made this health plan to work out and loose a few stray pounds; but her goal isn’t to lose weight, it’s to feel good about herself and be a better healthy version of herself. The world needs more Melissa’s—seriously. Now of course, I haven’t skinned her blog in forever so I went back a few posts and she did a lot of venting.

It makes me want to vent via blog. And so this is a bitch post—buckle up!

So let me start off with the usual drag story of boys. Boys are yucky. Boys are gross. They make me want to wash my hands at every sink I happen to come across. Tell me, why am I attracted to these….creatures? Ugh. So every time I come home from London, I’ve been hanging out with a friend of my Ex’s. Before the question pops into your mind; no my ex isn’t aware that we’re hanging out together, nor do I care if he’s aware or not. To be completely honest (here I go admitting secrets to the internet) it was my friendship with this guy that had a strong factor in my breaking up with my ex. He’s good looking. Like way above average in my books for Cambridge kids. And he listens to what I’ve got to say AND responds. Strange? You bet. And every time I come down I find myself wondering if he’s free and wants to hang out (we live literally three seconds away from each other). I always have such a great time with him, and we’re always laughing and having an actual-not forced conversation. I never have natural flowing conversations with boys that I have nothing in common with. He teaches taekwondo and is literally the polar opposite of me. It’s weird. I kind of do have a thing for him (I defiantly just cringed in my chair a little bit there) but I would never in a million years try that theory out. We live in two different cities, and I have difficulty maintaining relationships with my friends let alone a..ugh…significant friend. It would just be all sorts of awful. Now usually, that’s the end of that. But, its not. At Fanshawe, there is a kid who my roommates want me to date. It’s a guy from their program; he’s a few years older than me and very cute. But, we have nothing in common, and trying to have a flowing conversation without joking around every few seconds is like pulling teeth. He’s always physically hurt, which is weird. He’s currently going through his second or third process of implanting false teeth. And he’s had an obscene amount of stitches. There’s just always something physically wrong with the kid. Um, can you calm down and not get so drunk that you need to be hospitalized for a minute? I could work with that, I really could. The thought of having a significant man-friend is so appealing which is really the only reason why I’m sticking around to see if it goes anywhere. It’s awful, I know but I do think about him from time to time. Ugh, I wish I could just not care about any of this kind of stuff just like the beginning of school, where being single or taken was not even a thought that would cross my mind. Well that’s my little run-on-sentence on boys.

Now, my grades. I suck at school, I really do. I can’t study and I really am not concerned with missing an assignment. But I should be, because these assignments are worth so much! Ah I was I was normal, and you know, gave a fuck about what I was doing. Take now for instance. I should be studying for the two midterms I have coming up. Instead I’m blogging about how I’m going to fail because I’m not studying. I really should be more concerned but I can really think about right now is the fact that I’m tired and kind of hungry. Really hungry actually. God I want food, food fixes everything.

Tacos would be great.

March 08, 2011

#POST 18 A letter to You, a recipient that will never read this.

This is why I don't let you hug me. Because you hurt me to the point where I shed a few tears when explaining to my best friend (who might as well listen and react in the same fashion as a rock) why I was such an emotional wreck. You were in my head. You took over my thoughts. When I saw you my stomach dropped and sometimes I jumped. It shocked me every time because I was so used to you at one point in my life. I finally had a shoulder to lean on without the need for me to feel awkward, or an emo loser. You were the first person who kissed me, and I’m not talking about my first kiss ever, I’m talking about my first kiss with someone who was kissing me not because it was a dare, or because we were drunk, but because I had minimal make up, having a horrible day and you just wanted to. Without any substance or encouragement form anything or anyone else. To me, that was special, and probably something I will never forget. Another thing I will always remember is your hugs, and how for some reason when you hugged me I immediately felt better. That was a feeling I had never experienced before. And the more you hugged me, the safer I felt. I was becoming addicted to them. I even found comfort in your scent. I remember inhaling deeply every time purely because it made me forget what ever was going on for just that moment.

I never told you anything too deep, but somehow got you talking about things that you kept to yourself. Personal subjects, subjects I felt were told to me because I gained your trust. How silly of me to think of that, right? Because soon you wouldn’t even look at my face, say hello or even acknowledge the fact that I was alive. Now I’m used to that treatment. Honestly. I have even giving it to some people in my life as well. At first it hurt, but I just told my self, ‘Meh, I guess it was good while it lasted.’ And waited for myself to move on. But I never did. I’m still waiting. Why? I have no clue. I don’t like being in the same room with you anymore. You terrify me. The things you can do to me without you knowing are things that I rather not you find out. My stomach still drops. My head still spins. You still look the other way. And that hurts me the most, because I still don’t know why. I hate it the most, when you do talk to me, and I find my self struggling to keep the conversation, even though it was dead from the start. Why do I try so hard for you? You don’t care. I know the results. Why am I acting as if you were a huge part of my life? Why do I want to keep you in it? If there was one thing I hate more than anything about you now, is how bitter I am towards you about all of this. How I feel. And I feel it every time I see your picture, when I notice you in public. It kills me.

I literally want you. Not in a sexual way. I just want you to notice that I do live in the same town as you. I want you to just say hello. Smile at me, because you know I have a smile glued onto my face. Weather I want it there or not. I want you to hug me one more time. One more safe hug. That’s all really. You made me feel like a person for once. I guess I’m so hooked up on you because I want that feeling again. The sense of security, knowing that I could come to you with a feeling and you would actually talk to me instead of saying ‘that sucks’ like everyone else. I wish we were still friends. I don’t even know what we are anymore. I don’t care, but at the same time I do. I just don’t like this hold you have on me. I want you to let go. But then again, you have no idea it’s you. You don’t know what’s going on. You don’t care. And why should you? You moved on. You got over it. I clearly did not impact you as much as you did to me. So what does it matter?

It doesn’t.

January 13, 2011

POST # 15 S/W People.

I wrote a song.

People.

I hear your voice in my head, screaming things that I should’ve said

Over and over again, please don’t ask me why, you don’t know how many times I’ve changed my mind.

Situations roll, situations die. Can you pick up a pen and change our lives.

Would you pick up a drink to pour down again? Would you like the Rum or do you prefer the Gin?

You close your documents with a signature, and place you’re bets into an investment.

I like to live inside of picture frames because they bend. Changing you’re train of thought with a camera lens. They say they’re worth a thousand words, but what if its all fiction?

Leave it alone, and let it stand, let it age with a broken hand. Can you hear me, I don’t think you could, with the black smoke in your brain, could we live inside a picture frame?

Off with the clothes and gone have our thoughts, you know this wrong but you don’t care.

Emotions are sparse and only seen teaspoons at a time, If you close your eyes you learn to see the difference in reality.

Hugs and kisses become electronic and the excitement in your voice becomes plain.

Minus 2 degrees, our hands don’t feel cold, if they are the same temperature.

I like to live inside of picture frames because they bend. Changing you’re train of thought with a camera lens. They say they’re worth a thousand words, but if what its all fiction?

Leave it alone, let it stand, let it age with a broken hand. Can you hear me, I don’t think you could, with the black smoke in your brain, could we live inside a picture frame?

Could we time travel, twelve years? Do you want to be my friend again; do you want to go through the tears?

To tear things up is such a shame, we pretend that we don’t feel the blame.

I wish I knew back then what I know now, but if I did, I’d just fall harder.

Crash. Crash. Crash.

The world is spinning.

Life moved on.

You’re still here.

So went wrong?

Crash. Crash. Crash.

I like to live inside of picture frames because they bend. Changing you’re train of thought with a camera lens. They say they’re worth a thousand words, but if what its all fiction?

Leave it alone, let it stand, let it age with a broken hand. Can you hear me, I don’t think you could, with the black smoke in your brain, could we live inside a picture frame?

I like fiction books. They tell pretty stories. Always get through even in the end.

They say they’re worth a thousand words, but this is all fact. But I still like to lay back and look at the frame, with a different story in tact.