this year's love

taught me to fake it. keep pushing. let go. iron eyes will never be pretty, but at least they aren't crying." I wrote that sentence when I was 17 years old. I thought I knew a lot about love, or more specifically, what love wasn't. And I guess that's true, I did know a lot about what love wasn't. I didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Of knowing how deeply I was broken and shattered and that I was actually not okay, just excellent at going through the motions and lying while looking you in the eye. Looking back, maybe if I had shown those around me how defective I was, someone could have convinced me to start taking that little white pill every morning a lot sooner. And maybe that would have been a good thing, but would I still be my own hero? Would I still know how strong I am capable of being, and how to piece myself back together when I am broken by another's hands?  I would never wish depression on anyone. It is such a con

[originally published 8/8/12 - thisyearslove] Saying things to people who used to be in your life is draining. I've done it twice in the past few days, said things I didn't think I would ever say to both of them. And they both took it fairly well.  One of them hates me, deep to his core, and I have to figure out how to be okay with that. How to realize and accept that hating me is what he needs, what he wants. And knowing someone that used to be so close to you hates every fiber of your being, that's a hard thing to accept. Because I still love him as a person, I just couldn't be with him. I couldn't get married. I couldn't be defined by him and I couldn't stand the thought of him being defined by me. I couldn't wake up with him every day, and I knew that he would feel the same eventually, I just got there faster. I just fell first. And I am so sorry. I should have been stronger, I should have done it sooner, I should have opened my eyes.  And the pa