a fictionalization of complete nonfiction.

I’m not saying it’s as bad as it could be. I’m not even saying it’s bad. It’s just that I know they are talking about it and I know they see how different I am. As much as they say it doesn’t matter to them, I know it does. I’m the odd man out. I’m the one who isn’t rushing marriage, the one who doesn’t want children. The one who believes in a good time.

There are only so many times humor can happen at the expense of another person. There are only so many times I’ll laugh with you when you are laughing at me and judging me in my attempt to play it off before I snap. I’m the moody girl in the basement, you’re the celestial trio. Believe me, I get it. I’ll be burning in hell with the alcohol and the swear words and the bass lines that read to you like crack cocaine in a bathroom stall. Bring on the burn if it means I get to feel joy in life now. At least I won’t be bored.

Keep your eye rolls to yourself and I’ll keep my suspicions and anxieties buried. I love who I am. I do. It only gets hard to love who I am when you shove it back in my face against me. That’s when I question myself. That’s when my nail beds itch and my pores crack open. I try my hardest not to judge you. Allow me the same courtesy.

via *


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