Walking out

You probably don’t read this anymore; after all, I’ve blocked you and kept your secrets but honestly I hate the decision I had to make. It wasn’t easy but that’s being an adult.

There were too many things that were said that I can’t ignore. Our history is important, but that’s all it is, history. Just like this incident you’ve impacted my life in that way.

I’ve walked out on account of many reasons here are a few:

1) our friendship will never be the same afterward, I’ll be cold, distant, and unable to trust and confide in you.
2) I ruined your ___. Granted, it was ruined before I got there but I was the catalyst for pretty much everything. Even though I didn’t do anything.
3) your wife is a ___. I hate saying it but I feel it’s completely necessary now. She doesn’t listen, she doesn’t take time for you and she strongly dislikes me for a reason that never happened.
4) regardless of who you are, and the extent of your friendship with me you do not take out all your anger on me. That’s common sense. Especially in the form of text messages.
5) I’ve grown up. I don’t need somebody to hold my hand everything I take a step. You feel the need to grab it and hold it but unfortunately if this kept up I’d veer away from you anyway, and you’d chase me.

My decision is final, hate me all you want. I’m pulling the selfish card to get myself out of an unhealthy friendship. You’re a good person; we just can’t be friends.

Holding myself responsible

For most of my life, anything that went wrong with another person I blamed myself.

With the events of this past week I realize that most if not all were out of my control. I can’t keep blaming myself for people and their inadequacies. I can’t control what goes beyond the scenes.

Instead, I can just move on and forgive. Its a hard path, but I need to forgive myself. I may have been the catalyst to many things in people’s lives but I’ve never ruined them – they did.


A lot of my days now are preoccupied with school. Days where I wake up at ungodly hours to run and study for the next eight.

I worry all the time, I want to be the best but I hope I can be. My brain is silently fighting me and I need it to stop.

I know I can, after everything and all, I know I can. I just need to trust myself.

Tip toes on maturity

Honestly, people kill me.

If your day is going bad don’t push it on other people. Don’t bring them down with you because it just makes you sad and pathetic. As if we owe you anything for your bad mood – I’m sorry we can’t hold you by the hand and take you to the ice cream truck.

Grow up. Other people are struggling too.

Quid pro quo

I feel as though my life, as with everybody else’s is filled with compromises; some good some bad.

Yesterday I met with two:
1) the fact that people are manipulative and egotistical.
2) the fact that your own friend would want you to compromise something you believe in to teach you a lesson

The first hurt. The latter hurt more. Regardless of the lesson I would have learned, the very idea of changing myself for a lesson isn’t something that I should even consider. I might as well never have changed since before I started this blog when I probably would have compromised everything just because “I was a good friend”.

I know you’re reading this. I know you’re probably not happy for me putting you up on blast like this. But I’ve worked hard to change my attitude from” yes sir/ma’am” to “this is probably a stupid idea for attention.”

The artist

Occasionally, two people in the world are perfect for each other in that time, in that space, but too shy to admit it, a third party comes in and forces them to collide, causing a collision that changes every aspect of their life.

This happened yesterday, and despite the fact that I like to keep details as vague as possible this is something that I would like to share in its (almost) entirety.

So I am visiting the Big Apple again, there is no beach this time only people just existing as they meander through the throes of people. I’m with three friends for my last weekend of “freedom” and we’re having a blast at the biggest toy store in the world.

During our runs, I find this amazing face painter and they convince me, the shy child that I am, to get my face painted.

And I do, and it’s wonderful.

So we move to Central Park where many photographs by strangers are taken of me, and for the first time in my life I feel almost invisible – not out of loneliness – but invisible in the sense that others are watching me and judging and I don’t care anymore. I can hide behind something.

So at some point my friend spies a jazz band and we watch and listen for a good long time. I get compliments on my face paint and I smile, then my smile and then my clothes.

In the process, all three of my friends are asleep and I am just sitting there listening, when this young man sits near our vicinity. He’s college aged, dressed decent and pulls out a notebook and pen. He begins to draw.

I’m captivated: every stroke he makes is to the beat of the music, the details are infinite and the creativity and passion are in his hands. In a way I’m jealous, through the paths of which I’ve taken throughout my time blogging I lost that ability. I made up excuses and refused to listen to others stating I had a problem.

My friend notices my interest and pressures me to talk to him. Scared, I refuse. He talks to him for me and it creates a spark between both of us that’s completely unexplainable.

So for the rest of the night, he’s with our little group, talking, making friends and whatnot and it’s nice. But my friends being the people who they are, force us to be alone so subtly that we end up alone most of the time. There’s no hand holding or anything like that, just mutual admiration.

“Even if it hurts, get into the habit of drawing everyday. It seems like you lost your spirit.” He says to me, eyeing a sketchbook for me. Eventually I buy it and shuffle for a pen in my purse. (The elusive purse of which everything gets lost).

I begin drawing and he gives me every material he has. I turn shades of color suddenly realizing what my friends were trying to do for hours.

We get back home and I remove the face paint and dress casually, and his face lights up in a way I’ve only seen done a few times.

Unfortunately we have to part ways, no words of love and admiration were passed or physical security. But we know.

Some things are better not said. Some things are better untold.