Ha, how pathetic can I get, begging for someone to stay with me. Pathetic for hoping that they will. Pathetic for expecting someone will ever just stick around like that for me like it’s so easy. Pathetic for existing for nothing. Pathetic for believing that one day someone will see my worth. Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. I’m never going to be good enough. I’m worthless. Worthless piece of shit soul. No-good-for-nothing guy. Shall-die-to-save-everyone-the-trouble guy. Dead guy.

A fear of liking someone more than they like me. I don’t like depending on others for my own happiness, especially on those who can walk out of my life at any second. It’s a scary thought, to be abandoned and to have everything that brought you happiness vanish right in front of your eyes. As result of paranoia, over time, I’ve developed this fear of being dependent on others and having stronger feelings for someone than they have for me. I don’t want someone else to have the control and power to break me. I don’t want my happiness to be based off of someone else’s existence. I don’t want to be attached to someone else or give them the satisfaction of knowing I want them with me.

Despite the fact that I’m saying all of this, I know that deep inside, what I truly want is someone to help me overcome my fear.

And I’m hoping that person will be you.

Basically, I think I should just marry an introverted, hippie-haired girl who loves to study something I know nothing about. So then she can teach me about the Stars, or Maths, or psychology, or neuroscience, or chemistry, or something so foreign that with her voice, with her love, it becomes familiar. I guess I’m just kind of getting tired of having every one feel so foreign, but that’s what happens when you lose someone who loved your toes, and who loved you, too, as much as Galileo loved the stars. I am just ready to become familiar with someone else, press paper against their skin, and outline them; become their topographer and know every single little ridge in their ribcage, and how their knuckles turn red under hot water.

As tears roll down from my eyes, she said it.

“Bye, Kyle.”

And I knew from then on, things wouldn’t be the same again. I wouldn’t be able to hear her voice. There wouldn’t be anymore late night phone calls that we sleep on to. I wouldn’t wake up to the sound of her voice. I wouldn’t hear her stories. I wouldn’t hear her laughs. I wouldn’t hear her I love you’s. I wouldn’t get to know her day by day anymore.

The last time I will hear her story. The last time I will hear her voice. The last time I will hear her say those three words to me. The last time I have her.

The last phone call.

“I love you. Bye.”

In all honesty, I hate it when people judge the entire me through my blog. I mean, really? Do you really think that you would know the whole me with just my blog? Just because I write my solemn thoughts and laments in my blog, doesn’t mean you know me. You know what I chose to let you know. It’s different than to actually know me through talking to me, interacting with me and all. By talking to me, you get to know the little things about me. Those are something you find out for yourself and not me telling you that something and then you learn it.

Those people who say that it seems like I don’t joke around or I never went through a childhood only say that because of what they see on my blog. They read my tragic past, or my laments, the pain I feel about certain things, feel the melancholy vibe of my post, and then they think that that’s all there is to me. My point is that just because my blog has that gloomy theme because of my writing, doesn’t mean I’m gloomy all the time.

I have different sides, and in my blog, the sides I chose to show are limited.

I can joke around, too. I can be stupidly funny. I can be a douche bag. I’m fun to be with (sometimes). I have my blonde moments. I basically still act as a teenager, a young adult, because I am still one. I chose my friends wisely, just like everybody else. They can see most of my side, the good, the bad, the funny, the ugly. The thing is that those who judge me quite quickly wouldn’t know those sides, because they’re not my friend. They based their opinion about me from one source, my blog.

Well, let me tell you something. I am not my blog. It is mine, but it is not me.

I like conversations where I don’t have to think of what to say. It just comes naturally. A conversation wouldn’t be boring if both parties are actually willing to talk to each other. It wouldn’t be difficult to keep the conversation going because they enjoy each other’s company, that they want to talk to each other. There wouldn’t be a moment where you don’t know what to reply.

I like talking to people who actually likes talking to me. The conversation is almost always worth it.

I get jealous easily. It is not because I have no trust in you, it’s more like the other way around. I don’t trust myself to be good enough for you to not look at other guys long enough, long enough for you to not find a better guy than me. I just think that I am replaceable. I think that everyone is better than me. I also think that you deserve better than what I can give. I am jealous because I want you all to myself. I am jealous because they are better than me. I am jealous because I might lose you to any one of them, and I can’t do anything about it.

Self confidence = 0.000001%

Sometimes, I get so sad.

So sad in fact that I completely shut down. I stare blankly at the wall, and it doesn’t matter what you say to me because in that moment I don’t exist.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” you may ask.

Under my breath, I would say, “I want to disappear.” 

I will disappear one day, and when you start looking for me, it’ll be too late.

I have insecurities that not a lot of people understand.