"Promise me one thing," he said. "If you write about me, don't write anything bad. You can write about the good stuff though."
"I can't make that promise," I told him. "I write about my life. All of it."
And from the sound of that silence, I could've sworn I'd gone deaf the minute those last couple words fell from my tongue.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Interesting way to start the post, I know- but I wanted to start with the most significant part of this story and then explain why those few words taught me so much.
Last summer, I started going out with a boy who seemed almost a little too like me. If you know me very well at all, you know how unlikely that is. You know that one of us is probably going to win the lottery before I find someone who's just enough like me but different enough at the same time. A year ago, even I didn't know that. A year ago, when I met this boy and realized we shared the same opinion on almost everything, I genuinely thought I had found my soulmate.
We were both stubborn, introverted and enthusiastic about art. Our first date was four hours of nothing more than talking about our values and telling each other stories about our lives.
The version of me from almost exactly a year ago today was actually right where I'm sitting now, doing exactly what I'm doing now. Blogging about him. Soooooooooooooooooooo much has changed in the year between then and this very moment.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
About a week or so into getting to know this guy, I was brave enough to give him the link to my blog. And for what it's worth, giving a person the link to my blog is like giving them the keys to unlock even the most vulnerable parts of me. Giving someone the link to my blog is me putting my heart in their hands, and in a sense it's almost like I'm getting naked for them. Giving someone the link to my blog is me stripping myself of any and all security. It's as if I'm saying, "Here's the best and the worst of me, here's the rawest part of who I am, here are the wars in my head put into words for you," and that takes more courage than I could ever begin to explain to you.
Keep that in mind as I tell you this next part.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This boy went MIA for about an hour after I sent him the link, and when he came back he told me he had several things to say.
None of them were good.
"You seem to write a lot about boys who hurt you," he told me. "Don't you think maybe you shouldn't do that?"
"Why not?" I asked him. "Don't you think maybe if they don't want bad things written about them, maybe they shouldn't do the hurtful things I end up writing about?"
He went quiet for a minute, and this is where he said the words I started this post with. "Promise me one thing. If you write about me, don't write anything bad. You can write about the good stuff though."
"I know what I can write about, thank you," I said. "It's my life and it's my website, what I love about that is that everything is up to me and nobody else."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It didn't take any more than that for me to know I wasn't interested anymore, but for whatever reason I wasn't able to let go either. Something in me wanted things to work, and I think the lonelier part of me felt like I needed it to.
Even though I wasn't confident in him anymore, I went out with him a couple more times before I realized I was fighting a losing battle.
We went to the gym together one night, which meant an added layer of vulnerability for me seeing as this was the first time I'd see him without wearing makeup.
Shortly before leaving, he looked me up and down and smirked. "I can definitely tell you take care of your body," he told me. "But I can't help but notice you have trouble with acne."
I'd be lying to you if I said I didn't almost yell "fuck you" to his face.
I had never been put in that position before with anyone, let alone a guy, and I had never gone from feeling so good to feeling sick to my stomach so quickly.
"It's stress," I told him, which wasn't a complete lie- but was also just my attempt at BS'ing my way through the all the awkward.
"I'm already insecure about it," I told him once I realized he wasn't going to let it go. "I know I have trouble with it, thanks for pointing it out."
"You said you appreciate honesty," he said. "That's one of the first things you told me."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He wasn't wrong at all. Honesty was one of the first words out of my mouth when he asked me about my values on the night we met. I told him that night that I'll always prefer an honest pain over bullshit comfort. I still stand by that to this day and I always will.
But what I tried to tell him later on during the night he brought this up, was that my appreciation for honesty doesn't mean I need someone's honest opinion of me when I don't ask for it. It doesn't mean I'm leaving people an open invitation to criticize me. It doesn't mean I need all the honesty in the world, it just means that when it comes down to it, I'd rather someone be honest with me than lie.
And I thought that was simple, so back then I must have just been a stupid girl.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The same boy went on to tell me that he was disappointed that I was friends with people who were overweight. The same boy told me he was tired of everything being too politically correct and didn't care that I was upset when he'd use the word "gay" as a synonym for "stupid" or "pathetic."
The same boy was the one to do the break up, over text, telling me he just wasn't that into me because I took things too seriously and couldn't take a joke.
The same boy who told me not to ever write anything about him that wasn't good could be reading this now, and he'll be angry that everything in here is true.
It's funny to me, how people will be so cruel to the same people they'll demand respect from.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And if you're here now, reading this post, regardless of who you are or how you got here... thank you. Thank you for coming, thank you for staying, thank you for being the bad and the good behind the things I write. Thank you for being what shapes my life and gives life to the stories I get to tell.
Thank you for causing my sleepless nights, thank you for waking up beside me, thank you for dancing in my chaos and filling my soul with fire.
Here's the best and the worst of me, here's the rawest part of who I am, here are the wars in my head put into words for you.
And here you are, guarding the keys to the deepest parts of me as if your own life depends on it. Here you are, for one reason or another, and I don't know how to be what you deserve but I will promise you one thing:
"I can't make that promise," I told him. "I write about my life. All of it."
And from the sound of that silence, I could've sworn I'd gone deaf the minute those last couple words fell from my tongue.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Interesting way to start the post, I know- but I wanted to start with the most significant part of this story and then explain why those few words taught me so much.
Last summer, I started going out with a boy who seemed almost a little too like me. If you know me very well at all, you know how unlikely that is. You know that one of us is probably going to win the lottery before I find someone who's just enough like me but different enough at the same time. A year ago, even I didn't know that. A year ago, when I met this boy and realized we shared the same opinion on almost everything, I genuinely thought I had found my soulmate.
We were both stubborn, introverted and enthusiastic about art. Our first date was four hours of nothing more than talking about our values and telling each other stories about our lives.
The version of me from almost exactly a year ago today was actually right where I'm sitting now, doing exactly what I'm doing now. Blogging about him. Soooooooooooooooooooo much has changed in the year between then and this very moment.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
About a week or so into getting to know this guy, I was brave enough to give him the link to my blog. And for what it's worth, giving a person the link to my blog is like giving them the keys to unlock even the most vulnerable parts of me. Giving someone the link to my blog is me putting my heart in their hands, and in a sense it's almost like I'm getting naked for them. Giving someone the link to my blog is me stripping myself of any and all security. It's as if I'm saying, "Here's the best and the worst of me, here's the rawest part of who I am, here are the wars in my head put into words for you," and that takes more courage than I could ever begin to explain to you.
Keep that in mind as I tell you this next part.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This boy went MIA for about an hour after I sent him the link, and when he came back he told me he had several things to say.
None of them were good.
"You seem to write a lot about boys who hurt you," he told me. "Don't you think maybe you shouldn't do that?"
"Why not?" I asked him. "Don't you think maybe if they don't want bad things written about them, maybe they shouldn't do the hurtful things I end up writing about?"
He went quiet for a minute, and this is where he said the words I started this post with. "Promise me one thing. If you write about me, don't write anything bad. You can write about the good stuff though."
"I know what I can write about, thank you," I said. "It's my life and it's my website, what I love about that is that everything is up to me and nobody else."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It didn't take any more than that for me to know I wasn't interested anymore, but for whatever reason I wasn't able to let go either. Something in me wanted things to work, and I think the lonelier part of me felt like I needed it to.
Even though I wasn't confident in him anymore, I went out with him a couple more times before I realized I was fighting a losing battle.
We went to the gym together one night, which meant an added layer of vulnerability for me seeing as this was the first time I'd see him without wearing makeup.
Shortly before leaving, he looked me up and down and smirked. "I can definitely tell you take care of your body," he told me. "But I can't help but notice you have trouble with acne."
I'd be lying to you if I said I didn't almost yell "fuck you" to his face.
I had never been put in that position before with anyone, let alone a guy, and I had never gone from feeling so good to feeling sick to my stomach so quickly.
"It's stress," I told him, which wasn't a complete lie- but was also just my attempt at BS'ing my way through the all the awkward.
"I'm already insecure about it," I told him once I realized he wasn't going to let it go. "I know I have trouble with it, thanks for pointing it out."
"You said you appreciate honesty," he said. "That's one of the first things you told me."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He wasn't wrong at all. Honesty was one of the first words out of my mouth when he asked me about my values on the night we met. I told him that night that I'll always prefer an honest pain over bullshit comfort. I still stand by that to this day and I always will.
But what I tried to tell him later on during the night he brought this up, was that my appreciation for honesty doesn't mean I need someone's honest opinion of me when I don't ask for it. It doesn't mean I'm leaving people an open invitation to criticize me. It doesn't mean I need all the honesty in the world, it just means that when it comes down to it, I'd rather someone be honest with me than lie.
And I thought that was simple, so back then I must have just been a stupid girl.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The same boy went on to tell me that he was disappointed that I was friends with people who were overweight. The same boy told me he was tired of everything being too politically correct and didn't care that I was upset when he'd use the word "gay" as a synonym for "stupid" or "pathetic."
The same boy was the one to do the break up, over text, telling me he just wasn't that into me because I took things too seriously and couldn't take a joke.
The same boy who told me not to ever write anything about him that wasn't good could be reading this now, and he'll be angry that everything in here is true.
It's funny to me, how people will be so cruel to the same people they'll demand respect from.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And if you're here now, reading this post, regardless of who you are or how you got here... thank you. Thank you for coming, thank you for staying, thank you for being the bad and the good behind the things I write. Thank you for being what shapes my life and gives life to the stories I get to tell.
Thank you for causing my sleepless nights, thank you for waking up beside me, thank you for dancing in my chaos and filling my soul with fire.
Here's the best and the worst of me, here's the rawest part of who I am, here are the wars in my head put into words for you.
And here you are, guarding the keys to the deepest parts of me as if your own life depends on it. Here you are, for one reason or another, and I don't know how to be what you deserve but I will promise you one thing:
You are magic.
You are made of what happens to you and your scars are your stories. Tell them. Tell the world whatever you want. Don't let anyone stop you.
Don't let someone's most honest opinion of you change how you feel about yourself.
Don't. Just don't.
Don't let a stupid boy make you feel stupid too.
Promise me one thing.
Promise me you won't let anyone get away with treating you like you are not magic.
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