When I was eleven years old, Someone told me I was pretty for the very first time. It was un-ironically the same day that my mom finally let me start wearing mascara. I thought about it for a very long time. I still think about it now, Especially when I am taking my makeup off…

I used to have really bad anxiety as a kid. So bad, that I used to wake my mom up at 3am every other night, Screaming, in tears. I always had to make sure everyone in the house was still alive. I didn’t really even have that bad of a childhood, But I always believed…

When you told me you hated me, Part of me wanted to tell you that you couldn’t possibly hate me as much as I hate you. But I didn’t, I was hurting, But I knew you were hurting more. _______________________ When you called me a liar, I wanted to scream. I wanted to scream so…

I once read something somewhere that said, “I’ve always thought there was something romantic about having to fight for someone and win them back. But as I sit here, Grieving someone who is still alive, I realize there is nothing romantic about having to continuously try to convince somebody to love you.” ______________________