I cheated. I kissed him. I let it happen. And I feel horrible.

But also. I don’t know. Fuck my life.

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A letter I wrote to Mike while he was at camp 6 months ago:

I miss you so much. It causes physical pain. I feel so alone when you’re not here. Not even just because I lack friends. I just feel not myself. I am only whole when you’re here. Which is ridiculous and horrible. But true. I’m extremely dependent on you. Emotionally. It’s probably not a good thing.
Maybe I should work on that. Then again. I don’t really want to… I like realizing that I need you this much because I love you this much. We’re soul mates. As corny and cliche as that sounds, I honestly believe that to be true.
I write you so much cliche stuff anyways. I might as well continue. Especially since I mean it, right?

I was glad you feel the same way about not knowing what I’m doing and stuff due to your absence. In fact I was excited because I know that I feel that way because of how much I am aware of you not being there…But I don’t think that’s why you felt that way. You made it out to be that you don’t like not knowing because of your difficulties trusting others.
I completely understand why you wouldn’t trust other people. Especially after the way you’ve been treated. But you need to trust me and know one hundred percent that you can. Saying that you don’t like not knowing because you don’t know who I’m with…well..that’s not too far from “I wish I was there…because then I know you’re with me and not anyone else”. I want you to want to be here because you miss me. Not because you’re afraid of me hanging out with another guy and cheating on you. And I know you miss me and stuff. I don’t know. It was nipping at the back of my mind.

I’m never going to cheat on you.I am never going to kiss anyone else. Love anyone else. Do anything with anyone else that infringes upon something that is designated specifically to you.

Blahblahblah. This is me making a bigger deal out of something small ,that bothered me slightly, than I need to. I’m sorry. Today has been a lame day. And I hate your stupid camp.
Which is a selfish thing to do. Because I know you enjoy it and have a lot of fun there and enjoy the people and stuff.

But I’m selfish. Sue me. So I miss you a ton and want you all to myself and don’t want your camp to have you at all. THEY can have 4 visiting hours on Wednesdays instead. Maybe I’ll let you go visit on Saturday nights. You’ll have to drive to everyone’s house to visit them and say hello. But. You know. Yeah. I don’t know.

I like my version of camp better. Wake up time is 10ish in my or your bed. With air conditioning. ALL DAY EVERYDAY. And yummy food that no kid picks up with his hands ever. Unless it’s you being strange. Which to be honest, I wouldn’t put it past you. You get to stay up as late as you want and it’s never a bad idea. Because let’s face it…that 10ish rise-and-shine is pretty damn flexible. And if you end up awaking a lot earlier than wanted…well. Cuddly naps located periodically throughout the day are at your disposal. We also conveniently have Turkey sandwiches (Here we go with the sandwiches again) that have ACTUAL mayonnaise on them. We have ravioli on Mondays with creamy alfredo sauce. Heck. Every once in a while we’ll make a lasagna or bake a freakin’ cake (we need to buy mix for red velvet cake by the way). You can drink beverages of your choice (ANYTHING AT ALL) out of ACTUAL.GLASS.CUPS. And you can get the beverage from it’s actual container. I mean, we can put it in a cooler if you’d like, just for show…but we just took a nap…and we’re kind of tired so we should probably just not do that and go with the lazy way instead. We have this crazy thing where we have no limits on the amount you use any form of technology. And wireless internet is located in all areas of the camp or home.

I’m just being a sarcastic and bitter bitch and writing this in an attempt to give myself something to do. My friends are all hanging out again. Right now. Without me. I ranted to them about how I miss being included. Kind of. And the hint wasn’t exactly taken. Instead it’s gone from them being understanding to defense mode. WHATEVER. I wish I had friends who actually gave a flying fuck about me. You know, one time, Morgan texted me when she was upset and felt left out when I was with Lilly and Shelby and we instantly dropped what we were doing and drove to her house ( SPUR OF THE MOMENT. We gave her like 2 minutes notice and then just showed up) and picked her up and included her in our plans.

I’ve been hoping all day that they’d do that for me. All day. I’ve been laying on my bed/in my room. Waiting. For them to care that much about me. They don’t.

I really am selfish and self-centered and all that you know. Have you noticed? I keep looping everything around and back to me. I’m so consumed by trying to make myself happy. I’m sure it’s incredibly annoying and will eventually get old. You should plot ways of how to fix this with me.

I could type for hours you know. Right now I just feel everything flowing. Like…on the keyboard. Not in any physical sense. I’m just typing out my thoughts as they come. Weeee here they are. Presented to you on a silver platter, my Love. But in fact, this silver platter that you are presented with is in fact a blank, white document made to look like a blank piece of paper. And the dish upon the platter is actually random jumbled black alphabet letters combined in a way that you can read and understand and sort of grasp an idea of how crazy I am just by looking at them.

Do you think things would be simpler if we could fly? Just a random thought inserted here that I was considering elaborating on but then realized I didn’t know what to say so I didn’t do that.

Run on sentences… what a joy.

As are fragments (such as this).


Dearest. Please forgive my rambliness. I haven’t just rambled about anything or nothing (but then again how does one ramble about nothing if nothing is just that…nothing…and even if you type one word or complete one thought or sentence or just type one letter, that is in fact SOMETHING is it not? And Something is most definitely the opposite of Nothing. Which brings up something else. How can you possibly have Nothing. If Nothing is Nothing, how can you acquire it? You can’t measure nothing because it doesn’t exist in order to be measured how much is had and how much is not had. You can never possibly know what it is to have Nothing. No one can. In order to have Nothing you’d have to be Nothing, because you always have yourself, but in order to be Nothing, you wouldn’t exist at all [Which I am very glad you do exist…and I’m saying this is applicable to everyone and ..well..I’m getting to the part where I make a point, I swear.] and if you don’t exist..well you can’t possibly have anything because you aren’t in existence to be in possession of any one thing or another which brings us back to: You can never possibly have Nothing. You always have Something. Which is, if you think about it, incredibly comforting. I should probably think about that more often. Try and make myself cheery and realize how much I really have, since it’s impossible to have Nothing.) in quite a while.
It’s refreshing to say the least. I will say I am dreading you reading it though. Partially, anyways. I know for a fact that I’m going to feel like a fool if/when you read this. Just ‘cause I’m stupid and ridiculous (and I say that in the hopes you’ll disagree even though I know it’s true.). Blub blub blub. I’m just your adolescent girlfriend writing a silly letter…ramble…blob…thing that is very childish and dumb and is going on for a very very long time.

If you’ve even made it this far, I commend you. That’s quite the accomplishment. It’s hard to pay attention to what I’m saying or telling you sometimes, I know. It must be.
(Here comes my self thrown pity party) No one really listens or reads everything I’m telling them anyways. I think if they did everyone would know me a lot better and realize I’m fucking psycho and not talk to me at all anymore because I really do need help.

I get depressed a lot. My mom has depression. I wonder a lot if I have it.
I think (a lot of the time) I might and I think that makes my whole “I’m not important” thing worse. I don’t really want to admit it though because I don’t want to have to tell my mom or a doctor or to have to deal with it in any way.

There are days where I just feel so bummed out for no reason. And then everything else just kind of adds to it. Even if it’s not that bad. It’s almost like my mind seeks out stuff to make me feel worse and I just end up in my room all day with the shades down and with blankets on the internet watching movies that make me cry because I need an excuse to.

I was thinking about it once. And people do listen to me. And consider what I have to say. But a lot of the time, it’s a last resort. No. Pretty much all the time. No one ever asks me right away or listens to what I have to say right away or lets me help right away. I mean. Maybe I’m a hypocrite and do the same thing. But when I do stuff and refuse to ask for help, I NEVER ask for help. I don’t give in, in the end, and then listen to other people. I’m stubborn and get it done my own way. Or I just don’t get it done at all because I don’t really like talking to other people when I have an issue.

I’d much rather figure things out for myself.
You’re the only person who I’ve tried to talk to about things.
I know I’m horrible at it. And you still have to coax me to tell you what’s wrong and talk about stuff. But I don’t do EVEN THAT for anyone. I love you so much I try to change my how I deal with stuff. Even if it’s just a little bit- I’m still trying, you know?

Nothing I say in this is to be discussed. Let me make that clear. I’m only typing all of this out because I’ve had no human contact today (other than ‘Do you have any whites for the laundry?’ ‘No.’ And ‘What are you eating?’ ‘Soup.’ The one word answers are me if you didn’t know) and I want to TALK to someone about EVERYTHING I’M THINKING but you aren’t here and I probably wouldn’t just go on like this even if you were.
Because typing and writing stuff out on a computer or on paper…there’s a sort of safety in it. Like a wall or something. You feel safe saying whatever the fuck you want. Because you can delete it or whatever. Or rephrase. Or something. I haven’t done that. But. Yeah. I just want to pour my insides out on your keyboard and let you see. Let you glimpse what you’ve gotten yourself into.

That almost sounds like I’m trying to get rid of you. I’m not. I guess this is just my way of being completely honest? This is actually how I think. I skip around a lot more than this though. It’s like…if this whole set of text was read in the voice and at the speed that I would read it. You read much slower than I do. I think you analyze everything a bit more than I would if I were presented with a written text.

This is probably so fucking boring to you. I’d talk about guns and how they’re interesting and so cool but I know nothing about them really except that our views on them contrast greatly and I really don’t like them at all.

My mom tried to kill herself, you know. When I was younger. I was home. In this room where I am now. She took an overdose of her pills while I was asleep. And I guess right before she was going to pass out she called my Aunt and Uncle for help. I don’t know if she did it because she realized she didn’t want to die…or if she did it just so they could get her out of here so I wouldn’t find her. All I know is I woke up and my Uncle was here and my mom wasn’t because she ‘got sick and had to go to the hospital’, It’s fucking weird how things don’t make sense when you’re younger and then they do when you’re older. Like James and the Giant Peach. I love that movie.

You were banging your head on the wall once. Or. Banging something on the wall. Or banging your head on something. I don’t know. But. Anyways. My mom has a lot of other issues too. She’s bipolar. Which I told you. And a few years ago she was having an episode, and she was in the next room just banging her head against the wall…really hard trying to hurt herself…really hard. And it was just thump..thump..thump..
I thought someone was knocking on the door or something. And I just go in there and see that. It’s the middle of the night and I see my mom in a manic state trying to split her head open.

Do you know how afraid I am that I will be just like her? Just like that? I don’t want to be like that.

My temper flares so much sometimes and I get so angry really fast about dumb stuff…and later on I think of how badly I need to control that because I can’t be her. I can’t go in the hospital because I’m crazy and want to die and have insane mood swings that relate only to the misbalanced chemicals in my brain and little occurrences in my day that could possibly set me off.

In the …first or second grade..or third…I can’t remember anymore. That’s frightening. I can no longer remember the exact grade, and I used to know.
But she was in the hospital during one of those grades. I think it was second or third. And I missed a concert, a school concert I was performing in, to go visit her. I had made this Christmas-y vest and had gotten all dolled up for this stupid Christmas concert where we were going to sing that annoying Chipmunks song and stuff…
And I missed it so I could go see my mom. In the arts and crafts room. She made me this bracelets and necklaces with beads that were sparkly and pretty (at the time…now to me they look mismatched and plain old-plastic-like) and they were the greatest things ever. She painted this balloon mobile too. One of the balloons had cow spots on one side. It’s in my grandma’s house I think. I always remember that my mom made it, but I think I usually block out the part about it being from the hospital arts and crafts room.

She made friends when she was in there. This one guy, I don’t even remember his name. But he was a loon. Obviously. They met in the hospital in the section where mentally-ill people go. It’s no surprise. But anyway, he was pretty much in love with her I guess. And he also thought he was going to be the newest singer in this band called INXS. Which was obviously not true. But he was nuts, what’s to be expected? Anyways. HE had a neighbor named Roy. Roy really liked my mom too. And he had a motorcycle. He made me feel really uncomfortable. I rode the motorcycle with him once. And I feel off and my hip hurt a lot. And now I hate them. Because I hate Roy. He spent the night here once. But he slept in my room. So I had to sleep on the couch. I remember coming in here and seeing his underwear on top of one of my stuffed animals. They were dirty and gross and blech.

My mom isn’t good at finding good people. That’s probably why I’m so hesitant to be nice to Theresa. Terry. Whatever the fuck his or her name is now. I’ll rant about that later.
The worst person she was ever with had to be Cami. That woman was pure evil. My mom always says that Cami had her under a spell. It was like my mom was completely oblivious to how much shit I had to put up with. She had a son named Tyler. He was pure fucking evil. One time, we both had these bubblegum lollipops. And I guess the gum from the center of one ended up on her couch. Her couch was either blue and white checkers or blue with sunflowers…I don’t remember which…but anyways. I GUESS she tried to get it off and couldn’t so she had to cut it off and it left a hole in the couch where you could see the fluff and such. I distinctly remember throwing my lollipop away in a dark green trash can. But Tyler said it was me. He saw me do it. Everyone believed him and didn’t listen to me.
So my mom had me choose out my favorite stuffed animal. I picked a couple because I couldn’t choose. And she put gum in it’s fur. She gave me scissors and told me to try and cut it out. And I couldn’t. So she cut a hole in it.
At that age..I was no older than five…that was the equivalent of a death. Stuffed animals had life, in my eyes. They were like my best friends. And my favorite one now had a gash in it’s skull and was dead. Because of my mom. Because of Tyler. Because of Cami.

Another time, I said something about hating my mom to Tyler. Because she and Cami did something. Something that made me feel horrible, I don’t remember what. And I said I hated her. So he told my mom. And I had to eat soap.

I don’t remember what I did for this: but Cami once held up three spatulas. One was made of metal. One was made of plastic. And one was made of wood. I had to pick which one I wanted to be spanked with. I think I picked plastic. I didn’t want splinters. And I think plastic just sounds less painful than stainless steel, you know?

They had weird neighbors across the street. This guy who sat on his porch and fed nuts to squirrels all day. And once I remember seeing this little girl with no pants on running around their lawn. But she looked older than me. And she was all exposed. And it made me feel so uncomfortable and weird.

This all happened when I lived in Hudson Falls. I still know where I used to live and where Cami lived and the squirrel guy.

I was bullied at a playground there once too by this older bitchy girl. She was a bitch to Cami too. She made me really angry. Ahg.

Here’s something I’ve never told anyone. And I don’t want you to think it’s because you’re last two girlfriends were raped, and that’s why I’m saying this.

I think I was molested. I’ve always felt like I was. I’ve been over-sexual ever since I was little. And I think someone touched me or something. I really do. I don’t know if it was Tyler. Or his dad. I don’t even want to talk about his dad. He made me extremely uncomfortable. Once I swear I heard my mom saying she caught someone doing something to me. I don’t know if that was a dream or an actual memory. I always thought it was my Uncle John. But then I second guess myself. And think no…I don’t think he would do that. But I really don’t know. I think something happened to me that I don’t remember. And I’ve just never told anyone.

I remember when Shelby told us how she was. And I remembered thinking of telling her I was too. But I knew she’d think I was just saying that because she was saying that.

I’ve never told anyone. I don’t think anyone would ever believe me. I think you might. But it might just be my imagination. I don’t know anything for sure a lot of the time.

The Theresa thing. I feel like nothing in my life…no period of time can be care free and easy, and it annoys me that this can always be linked back to my mom. Why is she with someone who is going to become a man? Why couldn’t it wait until I left? Why did we have to move so much? Why is she gay? I mean. I know not everything can be helped. But there are many many moments where I long for such a boring, normal, generic life. I feel like everyone’s all YOUR MOM’S SO COOL AND LENIENT AND HARHAR I WISH MY MOM WAS LIKE THAT. No one knows what it was like for me growing up. I mean, glimpses, they may have been given, sure. But no one will ever get it because I think it really has scarred me and made me strange and I think I’m stuck on it.

I think that’s why my relationship with her is so strained. I can’t get over everything from when I was a kid. I feel like she OWES me this leniency. And my Dad. he was never really there. The memories I have of him when I was little are so fucking blurry. Even when I was with him I remember being with everyone else more. He’s so distant. He’s talked to me more in recent years than I ever remember when I was little. And now he has to be drunk for it to be something warm-hearted and positive. Otherwise I get this dry, sarcastic negativity. I always thought I liked it better with him and his family. I went there this last time and they’re just as fucked up if not more. I really just disliked everyone while I was there. I always think going there will be so great because it’s a break from here and I’m always wrong. Always.

The only thing I like lately is you. The only thing that isn’t fucked up is you. The only person who hasn’t hurt me so much that I kinda pull myself away, is you. I just ranted about myself for like 6 pages because I want you to know everything. I want to tell you everything. I want all my secrets to be in a jar that you can see.

There are some things I haven’t told you yet. I mean, I will eventually. If you want me to that is.They’re just more fucked up things from my youth. I feel like I wanted this whole thing-this letter-ramble-whatever the fuck it is thing- I wanted it to bring me closer to you somehow. Just because I felt like I’d be sharing deep things with you. But now I’m feeling like this is a mistake. This letter ramble thing. What if freaks you out. What if it’s overwhelming and…I don’t know. What if it makes you feel weird and awkward with me and you slowly begin building a wall between us and I end up alone again. I’m showing you everything. Please don’t leave me.

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It’s Christmas…I’m in love…My family is happy…I’m happy…He’s happy…Today is all I’ve ever wanted.

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Photo ideas I’ve yet to do.

-Multiple mirrors multiple shapes.

-The spot..Lilly exotic makeup.

-The window in my bathroom door —Hands..mirrors..etc.

-The whole reflection assignment.

-The pictures on the overhead/smartboard…skin etc.

-The corn holding thing on the yellow farm.

-The smiling silo.

-My room at my dad’s.

-The night time window lace shadow.

-Red peacoat and snow.

-Old person/anyone at supermarket—open freezer section breathe smoke + squeeze eyes

-Cold winter day breathe smoke, close eyes.

I’ll edit this as I recall.

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I can be over-dramatic sometimes. I admit it. Like right now. I’m blowing this out of  proportion. But you’re sick and you’re tired and so am I and we’re both just cranky probably and easily agitated. Let’s both forget it and be all lovey again.

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Dear Dad.

Thanks for acting like you care so much.

Thanks for going out with everyone and getting Chinese food without me..the first night I was here…and not even telling me where you were going.

Thanks for then telling me I could have some of the leftovers but talking to Amy about how some of it had been eaten like you were annoyed with it (yes I can hear you from the other room unbelievably.) 

Thanks for (on my second day here) dropping me off at Auntie Nikki’s and just going to the Casino with Amy all day.

Thanks for , on Sunday, sleeping all day and not talking to me at all or anything. And then when I had no clue what would be going on for dinner so I made Ramen, you complained about how you were going to make ravioli.

Then I put the Ramen in the fridge so we could eat together and you had already made a plate of leftovers. So I told you I wasn’t eating so we could all eat together. Then Amy didn’t even eat with us. And you finished your food in 5 seconds and just left. 

Thanks for trying so hard to spend some time with me when basically we’re not going to see each other at all today, tomorrow, or Wednesday. Then Thursday we’re going to Amy’s sister’s housefull of people who hate me and love you. No one’s going to talk to me and I’m going to have such a great time. Then on Friday you’ll probably go shopping and leave me home alone all day. 

Thanks for not noticing that my face was all puffy and my eyes were all red because I was crying because you do this every time I visit. Thanks, Dad. I love you too.

If Mike wasn’t here I would plunge into a depression like almost every holiday I spend away from home.

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I can’t do this. I can’t keep hearing about the same things. I need to separate myself from these situations. I get too stressed out thinking about it and then my stress comes out and becomes an argument with him. Then I just feel more stressed and feel horrible. I feel bad, I really do, but I can’t do this. I care, but I can’t ask about it anymore. I’m sorry. I have too much stuff going on already for me to deal with other things too. I know they don’t even have anything to do with me. I just can’t help but feel the stress from them anyways. I know this will probably seem annoying. And if it’s even read it will be talked about as being so. I’m sorry. It’s just how it is for me. I’ve thrown myself into it too much, along with my emotions. I can’t get lost in things that don’t even concern me anymore. I get too angry and upset. Know I feel bad. Know I really do wish for things to get better. I just can’t talk about it anymore.

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I am running out of ways to tell you how much I love you.

There is no other persons who I would like to speak to, look at, spend time with, eve be near in any way, so much as you. 

I think about you all the time. 

Every little thing reminds me of your face. The freckles on your shoulders. The dimples in your lower back. Those few hairs that stick straight up on the back of your head.

I miss you so much. 

I miss how the tops of your arms are so tan.

I miss how your nose scrunches up when you genuinely laugh hard.

I miss the way you push your glasses up your nose with your index finger.


You’re so adorable and perfect in every possible way.


I have to calm myself every time I think of later tonight. How I get to see you. I just saw you Sunday morning, but it feels as though it’s been years since then. 


I just talked to you last night, and it feels like it’s been days. 


It’s a good thing we HAVE to move around and talk to other people stuff, or else I think I’d just hug you once I got there and not budge at all for hours.


I am so excited to go to Six Flags with you. And to Maine. 

I want to do everything with you. I mean. Everything exciting. 

Take trips and do random nifty things and such.


We are going to have the most interesting lives.

Because they’re going to be spent with each other.


I love you. :)

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I see Michael tonight. *Sighs happily*

There is no one in the world who I’d rather wait around all day to see. He makes me happier than anything in the world. And I really love food and bubble baths. So that’s saying something.

I wrote him a note that sort of explains how I miss him and stuff. I’ll post it here. 

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