The first person who ever told me they loved me, lied.<\/p>\n
I feel like that happens to most people. Maybe it doesn’t. I don’t know. I’ve always been too afraid to ask.<\/p>\n
I’ve been too afraid to ask a lot of things lately, and by lately I mean my entire life.<\/p>\n
‘Love having @#@@^ in class, wish she would participate more, though’, is what the teacher’s notes would always say.<\/p>\n
Too afraid to ask what that word means, or how to work this problem, or what the %&^^ two percent milk means, or how did you two meet, or do you still love each other?<\/p>\n
Am I aloud to write %&^^ in a blog post? I’m too afraid to ask.<\/p>\n
I don’t look afraid. I make people afraid, though.<\/p>\n
Or at least, that is what I’m told. Chances are, I’m more afraid of you than you are of me.<\/p>\n
Like a spider.<\/p>\n
Maybe that’s why I like spiders so much?<\/p>\n
I mean, technically I have arachnophobia, but I’m not afraid of spiders.<\/p>\n
I’m afraid of Ticks. And needles,<\/p>\n
but only sometimes.<\/p>\n
Only when they’re taking my blood.<\/p>\n
Its not like I’m afraid of blood.I just don’t like it when something takes my blood.<\/p>\n
Maybe its because I was killed by a vampire in a past life? That might explain why I think vampires are overrated.<\/p>\n
But, I don’t believe in past lives.<\/p>\n
Or anything really.<\/p>\n
But that is\u00a0 not my point.<\/p>\n
At least, not right now.<\/p>\n
My point is that the first person who ever told me they loved me, lied.<\/p>\n
I told him I loved him too, which was also a lie.<\/p>\n
But, that is not the point.<\/p>\n
Because, whether I lied or not, I was not the first person to tell him ‘I love you’. I know because I heard others tell him they loved him and he told them he loved them too.<\/p>\n
I never confronted him about it.<\/p>\n
I wonder if he lied to them as well, or if I was just special?<\/p>\n
Special in the worst way possible.<\/p>\n
I don’t care whether he meant it with them or not. I’m long over wondering why I wasn’t good enough to be his only one.<\/p>\n
To be honest, I never really cared that much in the first place.<\/p>\n
To be honest, I barely even liked him.<\/p>\n
But I never really got over how he called me boring.<\/p>\n
Or how he called me ugly.<\/p>\n
Or how he complained about me not talking enough, only to turn around and tell me he didn’t care about my ‘sob stories’ the moment I opened up.<\/p>\n
I think about how he called me boring every time I think about saying ‘No’.<\/p>\n
I think about how he called me ugly every time I put on makeup.<\/p>\n
I think about how he called me a ‘sob story’ every time I speak.<\/p>\n
Every now and then,<\/p>\n
I think back to that one time he told me that I am going to die alone, broke, and homeless<\/p>\n
and wonder if those words somehow cursed me?<\/p>\n
I don’t believe in god, yet I believe every word he said.<\/p>\n
Pretty crazy, right?<\/p>\n
He didn’t love me.<\/p>\n
I didn’t love him.<\/p>\n
But that is not the point.<\/p>\n
The point is that his words still effect my everyday life,<\/p>\n
while my words were never given a second thought.<\/p>\n
Its always seemed pretty wild to me that someone can effect someone else so much,<\/p>\n
but the person who is doing the effecting will never be effected in return.<\/p>\n
I often wonder if this is all the reason why I only care for those who don’t care for me back?<\/p>\n
Everything they do effects me so much, yet everything I do hardly effects them at all.<\/p>\n
I wonder if it started with him or if it runs back even earlier than that?<\/p>\n
Maybe requited love killed me in a past life?<\/p>\n
Who knows?<\/p>\n
I’m too afraid to ask.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The first person who ever told me they loved me, lied. I feel like that happens to most people. Maybe it doesn’t. I don’t know. I’ve always been too afraid to ask. I’ve been too afraid to ask a lot of things lately, and by lately I mean my entire life. ‘Love having @#@@^ in … Continue reading “(d)effect affection”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":29,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3215"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/29"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3215"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3215\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3285,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3215\/revisions\/3285"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3215"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3215"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3215"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}