Im sitting here reading some WebMD article about coping with dying. Literally every step is something I am fully capable of doing, until it came to  “Letting people in”. I always knew this is something I should start doing, but it seems like such a foreign concept. I have NEVER been able to let people in. I only let them think im close enough to reach out to when in reality I play it so close to my chest its basically tattooed on. Letting people in, especially now, seems like such a bad idea to me. Why would I open up now just so people can watch me die? When I first found out I didnt plan on telling anyone. Not until the funeral.

But I realized something. “Letting people in” is not a step for me to accept. Its a step for other people. A step for them to accept that I wont be there to grow old, I wont be there for the early bird special, I wont be there for my future nieces and nephews. This step is to allow others to accept dying. All I can do is try my best to let them in. Even if it is only a little at a time. I owe my friends and family that. So I promise, I will do my absolute best to let people in, to answer any and every questions they may have.

That day will forever be burned into my brain. That was the day I was ****** assaulted. Me and my parents had complete faith in this organization. I have never trusted since that day. I hate him. I hate him with every fiber of my being. But hate wont change what he did. Hate wont change the fact he killed himself that January. Some how a dead man’s words hold more merit then the poor kid who’s life he changed forever. I hate you. If you were still alive I would have killed you myself. You have ruined so many relationships with my friends and family. You are the reason I can never truly open up to those who are always there for me. You are the reason I went through years of therapy that did not do jack **** to help me. You are the reason I tried to **** myself the first and third time. You are the reason I feel like i am not worth loving. *******. ******* and the false images people still have of you. The only reason I have not outed you is because people need to see you as some kind of ******* hero. I will not do that to them. I will not hurt people in anyway by letting them know how you hurt me. *******.

**** Fate. **** odds. **** my survival rate. **** everything going against me. I am the force I need. If I want good things in what time I have left I am going to fight ******* tooth and nail and claw my way to whatever top I want. **** everyone feeling sorry for me. I dont need your sorries. I need people to go do my bucket list with. Death is not scary. Death is freeing. If I werent dying I would never be as confident as I am now. Death is empowering. Why the **** would I care about my outcome when my outcome is the black? I am focusing on the process rather than the outcome. Whatever I want. I am going to do my ******* best to get. Rather that be to get the girl, get the job or get the hell out of Dodge. I. Am. Going. To. Do. It. Whoever the **** thinks they can tell me otherwise does not deserve a seat on this runaway train of confidence. I am going to live like im dying, and smile like ill never die. My future is for whatever I want to fight for. My future is mine.

I hate when you say you care, then you tell me you dont want to talk anymore. I hate when you tell me you would drive down with me to Cleveland, because everyone and their aunt knows that’s a lie. I hate when you tell me you’re overwhelmed by my texts, imagine being told youre dying in a new way every other week and then tell me youre the one who’s overwhelmed. I hate looking at old pictures of us when you had that sparkle in your beautiful heart-melting brown eyes, now you wont even look me in mine. I hate when you tell me you still want to be friends, but then you refuse to sit down and hang out with me, ya know? like friends do. I hate when I try to explain to you why I have been acting the way I have been and you just reply with “OK”. I hate that you coerced me into opening up and then completely locked me out of any hope of feeling at home again. I hate you for using me to make you happy until you felt that you didn’t need me anymore and left me wondering where I went wrong. I hate the fact my self confidence was exterminated like a nest of cockroaches. I hate the fact I changed who I was to be the perfect person for you and yet that still wasn’t ever enough. I hate the fact you said I never made time when I put my life on hold for you. I hate the fact I rearranged the alphabet to put I and U together but somehow U came before I. I hate the fact you can’t see how abusive and toxic your family is for you. I hate how you think I can just get over you in a weeks time. I hate how you said the only reason you still talked to me was because you were worried. You should be worried. But worried about what you’ve caused. I hate the fact I stopped doing what I love because you thought it was too depressing. This is what I loved. Writing poetry. The reason it’s so **** depressing is because I have no where else to turn with these words. I hate thinking back and reading every time you told me to love me. You used to call me a silver tongue with my sweet, love filled words. Yet look who the one is that spoke empty words. My words still have the same volume as they always did. Yours are the ones with empty meaning now. I hate how you gave me hope that someone in this ****** up world could ever actually love me. I hate the fact that when I opened up about trying to **** myself. Three times. You blamed me for being depressed. I hate the fact you tell me you care and then ignore me for days at a time. Even after listing out all these things I hate. There is still one thing I cant bring myself to hate. You.

I have gone over how it ended over and over in my head and I have come to a shocking realization. Its not my fault. I gave that part of my life my everything but it ending was not my fault. I rearranged the alphabet to but I and U together but somewhere along the way I out U before I. That is my fault. With everything thats been going on with me physically and emotionally, that is the worst thing I could have done. I had put you and your happiness before me and my basic medical needs time and time again. Can we just talk about how ****** that is? I put someone else’s happiness above my own health. I can remember times where I would be having heart problems but I kept quiet as to not impose on her fun. I stopped doing so much of what I loved in order to do what she loved. None of this is her fault, these are choices I made. Thats the issue. I made these choices. I put U before I. But now im going to go back and make this **** alphabetically correct and put I before U. Thats how it always should have been.

Why do I still want my ex back? She treated me like **** after we broke up. I needed her, not like I need a snack. No, like a drowning man needs air. Why do I want her back? I have a beautiful, exotic, compassionate girl pining after me. But I just cant get over her. I know how awful she treated me. I know how much damage she did to me and how I have just started to get better from it. I know all of this. But yet I am choosing the one who hurt me nearly beyond repair over the **** swimmer who is completely enthralled by me. What the **** is wrong with me? I have so many great things going for me. I got the job. I got my health improved. I have girls chopping at the bit for me. I am finally doing what made me happy again. I am finally dancing like no body is watching when ******* every body is watching. I love it. But something is missing. The girl that broke my heart is missing. Because she still ******* has my heart. Thats so ****** up. This is not some game of finders keepers. I should not be the loser weeping.  But yet for some ******* reason I still want her to be by my side through it all. Why the **** do I feel like I need her? I am such a better person without her. I can see that. Everyone can see that. But I still want her. Why. Why Why Why. Why do I hurt myself like this. I am fully aware I am hurting myself. But pain has never smelled so sweet. I keep trying to change who I am so I can trick myself into not needing her. I even changed how I smell for fucksake. I used to smell vaguely of apples. Now I smell like some manly ****** pine forest. I have had two women in my life hurt me to a point where I almost need to be institutionalized. Yet those two women are the most important women in my life. But yet I cant ******* let her go. Because no matter how much harm she does. I can not stay away. The good will ALWAYS out weigh the bad.

Is the glass half empty or half full?

Full does not matter and empty need not apply because I smashed the glass on the floor into a million glittering pieces.

Why am I writing this? Because you were my glass. My fragile, delicate glass ballerina. The kind you see in those antique shop that have existed longer than time itself. Just sitting in that glass cabinet next to the ancient cash register gathering dust. Only you are not gathering dust, you are going out, you are going out and being social. You are going out and being the one thing you have lately, or maybe not so lately, have not been with me. Happy.

I completely acknowledge that this is my own doing. I was the one viewing you as a dusty antique, not as a beautiful hand-blown figurine composed of the rays of the sun. When you said you needed some time apart a part of me was ripped out. Not because I did not seeing it coming, but because I had seen it coming for such a long time. Like a train wreck that my eyes were surgically stitched to. Like the old light house keeper that seeing a storm brewing on the horizon but warns no one in the town below. Because nothing he does, and sure as hell nothing he says will stop it from forming nor will stop it from tearing down everything that had been built up. Secretly I am the old lighthouse keeper. I hope this storm knocks over the light house along with the feelings I have, not had, but still have for you. Not because I do not want these feelings but because every time I think back you me saying “I love you” and you saying “I love you too” it feels like meat hooks being dug into my very being. Mine are still genuine with the same feeling of “I love you” but yours, I know yours do not mean the same anymore. I want that light house to be nothing but a memory because these feelings, these emotions are tearing me apart. I tried to move on. I tried to be happy. But the only way I saw Happy and myself coexisting was with you between us.

I have been wearing the comedy mask in everything you see as to not let the tragedy mask show my true colors. That’s the funny thing, as far as William Shakespeare was concerned the only difference between a comedy and a tragedy was whether or not the protagonist survived. Your story, this story, will remain a comedy because the protagonist lives on while, me, the antagonist is left one stiff breeze from toppling off the edge of a seven story building.

I am sorry, I know the feeble words of man mean nothing but as of now that is all I can give you as I swallow these broken shards of glass. To me it does not matter if the glass is half empty, half full, one third full, three fourths empty, or anything else. Because my glass is gone. No longer gathering dust on a shelf, but out showing the world how much she truly shimmer.