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It’s weird reading the Xanga I kept when I was fourteen. Actually fourteen to fifteen. It makes me realize that that period of my life was so dreadful that my brain has actively deleted extremely important parts. It also makes me realize that circumstances were a lot worse than I thought they were, and that I was a trooper. Had I gone through all of that stuff now, I probably would have been suicidal. I have grown far more melancholy since I was fourteen. I have to keep looking in the mirror to make sure I’m not still that person. I do look a lot different, I guess. I just didn’t notice the change.
I know that it’s three hundred percent dumb to think this way, but my secret is that sometimes I wish I had someone to take care of. Someone who would come over so I could make them warm vegan meals when I’m sad and then we could eat together and pretend like everything’s okay and talk and laugh and then we could both curl up in my large bed together and I could just cry and be held like a baby. And this person wouldn’t even stop me from crying. They would just let me cry, and just hold me and understand. We could be social together, go out, go about our own lives mostly, but when I was sad, that person would have to come over and let me cook for them and then they would have to hold me and let me cry.
Don’t care if it’s not related, I love this song.
I’ve been in a terribly contemplative state for the past week.
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