Tag Archives: Margie

That Night

Went something like this…

Me: NewGuy you just don’t understand. For years it’s been me. Sure I have my sister, and Margie, and others but it’s been me. Everyone knew I went through my own stuff I didn’t talk about things I didn’t need help. Then you. You come and you hold me, you hug me, and you love me. *Starts to cry* You tell me that everything’s okay. You tell me it’s not my fault. You tell me I’m beautiful.

Communication between us.

Me: I’m okay I’m just sad I’m leaving, and I never expected to find someone like you. To be treated the way you treat me. It’s good NewGuy. It’s scary lovinging someone and giving you so much trust, but I love you.
NewGuy: It’s suppose to be scary. It’s suppose to be new and exciting. You know I love you right?
Me: *slowly tears fall down my face again and I nodd as he reaches for me*

How did I get so lucky?


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If You Want to Talk

I’m here. Gosh he’s repeated that a few times now. Sometimes I want to just go from start to finish and just keep going. Except it doesn’t work like that, because I’ve put a lock for so long on my ideas and my words.

Part of me wishes when he met Margie he’d ask some things that she just understands.

Why does she always say she doesn’t deserve me? Because you see. She doesn’t think she deserves a thing. She just doesn’t understand why people would want to be around her, or why people enjoy being around her. She thinks that if it’s good it should go to someone else. Someone who deserves it. She just doesn’t understand.

Why does she always think she’s a bad person? Because she let it happen well at least according to her. She doesn’t think she’s a good person or all she does is ever enough. She’d give and give till she had nothing left, and she’d still feel like it wasn’t enough.

What do you mean enough? She’s told you she’s broken before right? Ya Well you see she thinks there is a large piece of her missing. Like she’s half of the woman she use to be. Half the woman she could be, because she lost the other half and can’t get it back. So she’d give you everything she’s got, but it’s only half of what she wants to give you.

How does she still go on whole-heartedly? Because that’s her. She goes everywhere with everything she’s got. She’s convinced she’s gonna die early because she lives through so much and still has so much. She thinks it’s some big test that you learn how to keep going and giving it your all.

Do you think she’ll ever figure it out? Slowly. She understands in bits and pieces for short periods of time. Sometimes it’s just a lot though so she chooses to take what she can.

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Kicked Puppy

I told my best friend Margie that I had this problem.

“I feel like I have kicked puppy points. For the thing that happened to me. For my Past. For everything he did to me.”
Margie: “Let me get this straight you, the kicked puppy, think you have points for kicking puppies.”

How do you get rid of that feeling of being a bad person for letting what happened to me, happen to me. How does a kicked puppy not feel some type of… blame?


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Are you freaking out because

… You’re happy?” Margie asked. Of which I took a deep breath and tilted my head back. I’d kill not to be in a different University as my best friend sometimes. This this is one of them.

“I dunno Margie. Things don’t go right for me. I mean take a look at my life. Chaos. Stress. Sadness. I can handle all of that with great strides. Give me something worth losing though and suddenly I’m gambling with more than I have.” I know it sounds lame. I know she’s probably rolling her eyes at me from hours away. But I know she knows exactly why I am worried, and she would kill to be here to tell me to my face.

“Stop freaking out. Take it a day at a time. You’re happy.”

“I know I just. Why me you know? Why did he pick me?”

“Because you’re a good person,” and as much as I want to believe her part of me may never. I repeat the words to myself I’m happy. It’s what I want to be loved by someone else.

Only a matter of days till I’m away from the man I just met, and back surrounded by old haunts, and the people who keep me together. Talk about a cluster.

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I’m Exhausted

I saw Margie last night. Well actually we sat at a resturant till three in the morning, and she said something that stuck out to me. “You’ve always been something about it you know? You’ve always been angry, frustrated, sad or “working on it” but I don’t know how you’re not just exhausted” and I had to tell her the truth.

I’m so sick of being strong. I’m at that point where I should be leaning to the most important people in my life. My mother. My coach. My brother. Margie. Sean. But I can’t. Because we are all in different points of our life that no one has the time to take care of me for a while. I just want to give up for a short while. I want to hide from the sun for days. I want to hide from humanity for weeks. I want to give up.

I know it’ll all work out, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel blah blah. But right now? I’m M.F. tired. Exhausted is a really good word. I’m too tired to want to move. I want someone to take me in their arms and just hold me. Because I’m at that point where I dont have the strength to hold myself together anymore. It’s so tiring. Day. After day. Fighting the good fight and sticking up, finding myself, fighting the stereotypes.

I can’t help but if on the inside I gave up for a little bit. Needing a vacation from all this serious things. It might be best described if I was five, because I’d just simply say, “Mommy I can’t do it anymore. I’m too sad, too sick to my stomache.”



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A “Clam”

My good friend from high school talked to me today and we talked a little bit, and I made a joke about my conservative ideas about myself and how I don’t party like normal freshman. His exact words “It’s college what did you expect” Then he went on to call me a “clam” because I never open up to anyone. Of which I said sure I do. Then I listed off Sean, and Margie. And then my list stopped. He’s right I don’t open up.

If I could I’d tell you my entire story. From start to finish everyday. I’d say something like.

I was assaulted in high school. I stayed up for nights on end with insomnia, but it wasn’t even that; it was my fear of dreams so I’d fight sleep with every ounce of my body. I’d shake at the sight of my ex boyfriend. I mean shake. I’d go days without eating because if I ate, I’d puke. So then, I went days puking on end. It was really sad when my dentist noticed the decay on my teeth. I told her I had the flu. I hid from everyone, because it seemed so obvious, and yet no one knew. I longed for someone to take me away from every hurt, every fear, and him specifically and then Sean came around and he did do that. Then. He left me. Worse or better off I still haven’t decided.

Or maybe I’d say something like a text book.

I was molested in high school. My boyfriend didn’t understand the word no, and I was severely depressed because of a loss in the family. He would touch me and my body used every defense mechanism it could think of except that vocal chord that knows how to yell. He took away most of my life and I’ve been fighting to get it back soon. He was a “good guy” according to my friends and that part hurt the most. Then because being “single is a curse” my friends hooked us back together. My sentence continued. They blame themselves, or him. Me? I just blame myself.

Or sometimes when I’m really sad I just want to say things like.

I’m broken. Totally broken. Dont love me! Don’t touch me– You’ll get this. It’s contagious this hurt everywhere. It’s an ache in your heart and a burn on your skin. It’s a disease everyone talks about and you’ll laugh too, but inside your heart clenches and you have to count the beats. Save yourself and quarantine me because what i’ve got you don’t want to catch.

Then when that gets too much I switch.

Love me. Please for the love of all that is holy someone show me the things I missed. Pull my hair back. Kiss my forehead. Stroke my arm. Hold me tight when I’m scared. Hate the S.O.B because clearly I can’t. Give me strength because today I don’t have it. Today I’m going to hide under the covers and you’re going to let me stay and bring me a note with a poptart for lunch that says “Please eat beautiful you have me worried” and I’ll eat knowing I’ll have to force myself not to puke– just because it will make you feel better. I’ll cry. I’ll cry so hard, please hold me. Hug me. Prove to me that I’m not contagious. Oh love me.



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What being home feels like…

I told my best friend who let’s call… Margie. I told Margie that I was sick of taking care of myself. Sick of being mature. For a little bit I just wanted someone else to take care of me. And her response was “Well, you’ll be home soon.” Oh yes, hand made blankets, warm walls, comfort food, and sunshine smiles.

Bull shit.

Sure home is nice and everything, but you reach a point when you can’t really just let someone else take care of you anymore. You can’t just let go and relax, sure you can sleep in for hours but there is no more letting other people stress about you. Because then you stress, about them stressing. Nor can you let someone take care of you, because your old enough to take care of yourself, so put away your dishes, do your own laundry, and clean up after yourself.

Not only is home not as comforting as I needed, being home brings other forms of suck around. For instance back at college when I have a bad day and spend the entire day crying and being sad, it’s okay because logically I’m saying that I’m doing this to get better. But back home? I’ve already cried in this exact same bed before. I’ve already spent nights awake in this exact same couch. I’ve already shaken and cried in these places and I’m doing this so I don’t have that anymore. Therefore making me feel like I’m right back where I started, and I’m getting sick of square one.

Being home is nice, but it’s not comforting to me right now, and maybe it won’t be for a long while. My heart just heavies.

If the names are ever getting confusing don’t worry. I added a “Who’s who” link to clerify it, and no who’s not on first. *Insert bad pun noise now*

Or it’s at the top of the page.

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