I’m Scared Of Losing My Virginity

In the traditional sense of the word, I am a virgin.

I’m not ashamed to say it; I don’t want to hide the fact and I’m perfectly willing to be open about it. You may wonder why I would write a post on this topic if the fact of it doesn’t bother me so much. It’s simple: I’m scared of the idea of “losing” it.

I’ve spoken about sex with my friends before: S recently because he’s listened to my ramblings about the subject, Robin on holiday and at Christmas (she’s been my main source of information and I love her for it), Rapunzel, Wren and Red but there are few people who have heard me plainly say that the thought of having sex for the first time, of losing my virginity if you will, scares the living shit out of me. With friends and with advice, I’ll be as open as I like and I’m not afraid to talk about that kind of thing but the reality is, I have no clue what I’m doing. It’s time I truly admit to myself that I’m nervous of it and that it’s okay to be.

Searching for articles online, watching videos from Youtube and talking to people about my worries has helped me to figure it out but it still doesn’t make sense. I don’t really care about the pain: it doesn’t necessarily have to hurt. I’m only mildly paranoid about pregnancy because I’m aware of birth control – have a look at this if you’re unsure. With the practicalities, I’m not too fussed: you can get good advice with that and also, I know that it – of course – won’t be perfect the first time. Nothing ever is, usually, and that’s okay.

However, the absolute terror comes from my emotions. Or rather, the messed-up confusion that they’ve become. I don’t understand it: what I want, what I’d be comfortable with and who I’d be comfortable doing things with but I’ll have a go at explaining it. I’m so glad I have this platform to express this kind of thing.

Recently or maybe since October, I haven’t trusted anyone really with the idea of physical intimacy. Even now, when I’m over the situations that have happened to me, I have a wariness I can’t shake. Whether I’m in a relationship or not, I feel like to “lose” my virginity, I’d have to trust the person a lot. That trust would be in the sense of being fine around them if something went “wrong”, being able to tell them I didn’t want to do something or trusting them enough that they wouldn’t tell people what happened if I didn’t want them to. They would also have to know me quite well because I have a few personality traits, like paranoia over very very small things, that they’d have to understand to get why I might be scared. With this kind of thing – that goes for physical and emotional relationships – it’s so important to communicate well with the person or people you’re involved with. If they don’t know how you feel, then you could wind up being scared of something and not being able to tell them or they wouldn’t understand.

To gain that trust would take a while for me; I’d be too nervous and would question everything they thought of me because I’m that sort of person. Just to say: if you find that you don’t have to trust the person then that’s completely fine: everyone has their own expectations and thoughts about sex or not having sex. Personally, the idea of letting someone in enough for me to feel comfortable in my body around me makes me scared simply because when I become capable of that, I won’t be able to rush into things which may prolong the nerves. Previously, I rushed into things a lot so I’m almost “used” to that feeling but I need to remember that not everything is about getting Experiences; sometimes, you have to take a step back to examine and figure out your feelings before you do anything.

As of yet, I haven’t been treated like a child for being a virgin except by one person and they don’t count because they treated me like a child in a lot of respects. I’m not necessarily worried about what age I “lose” it: I’m 17 now and as much as some days I’d like to have that experience now so I know what it’s like, building up that trust first is important because if I didn’t, I would feel sick with myself afterwards and I never ever want to feel like that again. I know I would be safe; it’s not about that: it’s about how I may react after.

Often, I call myself “prickly” or “worried” as a general rule. I’m able to get close to people but unlike before, it doesn’t come easily and I don’t always trust that they would actually be there for me. In terms of virginity, leading up to it or after, I have a feeling that I may then block everything out out of fear. This is why I need to have that trust so that if that happens, the person – whatever gender they happen to be – will understand.

Basically, it’s all about trust. I’m scared of myself, of people’s reactions and of that trust disappearing. I don’t know if I would be able to tell one singular person everything that has happened for fear of being judged but I suppose people don’t need to know everything because no one does currently apart from, I think, myself. I know that I will find that person but it’ll take time, time I don’t know how to invest properly.

Whenever I think about the act itself, I get really nervous because of this. I laugh when anyone suggests it because I find it hilarious but beneath that, there’s a lingering terror that it’ll never happen or when it does, I’ll feel wrong or I’ll do something stupid. I suppose, though, that it won’t go perfectly right but that just means that I have something to compare other experiences to. It’s okay for things not to go perfectly. I need to remember that.

How do you feel about losing your virginity if you haven’t, or how did you feel when you lost it? I’m not asking you to comment if you’re not comfortable because this can be a very Personal topic to some people. Just think about it and if you ever need to talk about anything, like your fears and worries, you can email me. I may not be able to necessarily help but I’ll always listen and do my best to give you advice.

Don’t be worried about talking about this. Originally I was scared of posting this because I thought it’d be too mature but for those interested in having sex, this can be an important topic and for those not, it can be interesting to read about. If you want to lose it then that’s fine; if you don’t, it’s also fine. What you feel is personal to you because it’s your and no one should control it, or your emotions, but you.

From Elm πŸ™‚

About Crying

Over the last year, my dad’s witnessed more of my breakdowns than anyone has probably witnessed in my lifetime. Either that, or there were more of them.

He was there for my numerous ones over French, the ones when Rapunzel broke up with me and whenever I called him up after I’d argued with mum and was calling myself a terrible person. He wasn’t there directly after my relationship with S ended but he’s seen the aftermath of that, how it’s affected me and when I sobbed on him because I had no other way to express my emotions. More importantly, he saw a breakdown which I had today – one of the worst, not for its intensity but rather the emotions that went along with it.

I went to “blind college” on Tuesday and “blind school” yesterday and today – the former to look around and the latter to go on a course about uni. Tomorrow, I’ll write a post about how that all went – it was great – but blind school affected me more because I cried last night and today, when I left, for a solid hour and a half.

There’s something about tears. They hurt now almost – because I’ve had difficulty expressing my thoughts and feelings, especially because I smash them down and then forget who I am – I feel guilty. Yesterday was both parts wonderful and shocking because I truly felt emotional – painful emotions but it was okay because for once, I could let them out freely.

I saw S for the first time since we went to Paris and I’d forgotten what it was like to be around him. Yesterday evening, after having come back from the evening’s activities, we went to the common room and talked. There, I spoke about how I’d been feeling – how I suppressed myself, how I acted differently around other people now, how I let others rule my emotions.

He brings out the actual me in myself without trying. There aren’t many people who can do that – and when you’re feeling like shit, to have someone say to your face that they care and that they always have makes you cry. It certainly did for me: I made some disparaging comments about my tears – “Oooh look, one’s falling down my face!” He didn’t try to fix me or make everything right in one sitting. Instead, he said it was up to me, whilst listening to me. It hit me then that he is somebody who truly gives a shit and even if he wouldn’t state it all the time, I know he does; he wouldn’t just turn round and say “Okay our years of friendship were cool but bye!” After I said that I hated how I presented this part of me to him every time I saw him, he said something along the lines of “You’re just sad-Elm right now and that’s okay – it’s who you are and don’t put up a fake front for others.”

After I left, I cried and felt absolutely wretched inside. My dad was there, holding my hand when he didn’t have to use both for driving. As I was unable to form words, he talked to me about everything really, listening when I could speak as I told him just how lonely I felt. The reason for that is that it’s almost foreign for me now to feel this level of emotion without numbing it: I’ve fucked up recently in terms of others and so almost feel like, sometimes, I shouldn’t let myself feel because I don’t have the right. S pretty much showed me that that was bullshit by taking the time to sit with me, understanding my paranoia but then telling me that the paranoia was unfounded.

Crying is strange. When you cry for the sake of it, it doesn’t hurt so much and leaves you feeling even worse. When you cry because all you feel is sadness and you can’t bloody breathe, afterwards, you feel an aching relief because things don’t burn so much – they’ve cooled to a dull roar. If your tears fall in a service station surrounded by people you don’t know, it’s quite therapeutic because no one tries to pressure you into telling them what’s wrong – the explanation would take a long time.

If you’re feeling awful or you’ve blocked your emotions, my best advice is to tell someone about them. Let them out. Let yourself cry like I did – like I may do later – until the skin under your eyes hurts, until the loneliness isn’t so high because someone’s there to reassure you that yourself is enough.

I’ve figured out that the people I most love and appreciate aren’t the ones who make you explain why you cry. They’re the ones who let you cry, let you explain and then show you that they’d do the same whenever you need it. They’re the ones who don’t try and stop your tears: they understand why they fall without needing a thesis on the reason.

From Elm πŸ™‚

I’m Too Sentimental for My Own Good

Call it coincidence, but the 24th seems to have it out for me.

By “having it out for me”, I don’t mean it’s personally attacked me with its… Numberness, but on the 24th of various months, things – recently/in the last 1 and a half years – have seemed to happen in terms of my “love life”, which means that I now have an entirely unfair grudge on the number, and the grudge – which I only realised existed today – is most likely going to surface in a bitter mutter on certain dates, because I seem to have a habit of attaching importance to things like that and then getting involved in a self-fulfilling prophecy of irritation.

It’s not like I mean things to happen on this day, or that I even realised they did until now: I was thinking earlier (shocking I know) and I came to the thought that, completely by accident, a few things have happened on this day in different months. It made me laugh, and then made me feel rather too sad, so I decided to make a post about it. You don’t rule me, 24th, you bastard!

My hilarious failure of a two-week internet relationship on the 24th ended. That isn’t exactly ground-breaking, but a day later, I had what I consider my first kiss, and so of course the day prior would mean something because the latter day will always stick in my mind. Palm meant nothing to me in the long run: S, on the other hand, did and does. Convoluted? Oh, it makes sense in my head; the past’s a weird thing in that it reminds you of things, but this section of the past doesn’t hurt. It’s nice to remember.

On the 24th of February (last year because I’m not a time traveller, sadly) I took a huge step in realising that my feelings were important, and that I didn’t have to do something just because it was right for someone else. I understood that not having feelings for someone and being in a relationship with them is a bad idea, and only causes hurt; it made me grow up and finally accept that what I was feeling was alright to feel. That relationship ended amicably, and stayed friendly, which is great.

The 24th marks the start of something that was beautiful to me, and something that got me through a lot of pain in my life; I started on the road to falling in love that day, and though that’s faded now, it’s alright because again, I grew as a person. It also marks an ending, of what I shan’t say, but that ending was incredibly bittersweet. With the person in question, after that “ending”, I was never quite sure if I’d break what we had, or if it would turn into something lovely. It represented the fleeting kind of love you have, before complications get in the way of it.

This “day” is also one where I made some, um, morally questionable choices. Then again, I don’t regret a thing because it was a huge reality check; I sincerely doubt it’d even occur to anyone else what this particular instance was, but for me it was a wake-up call. I was happy for a short time, but at the expense of others, and it only increased my paranoia despite the closure I received. It wasn’t fair, really, though I’ve put it behind me as best as I can.

Oh, and coincidentally, the 24th of an unnamed month is Ash’s birthday. Ash was previously one of my best friends, who I fell in love with, and I find it quite funny how this day also links to him. Weird, in fact; it’s all total accidental happenstance, but it still shocks me a bit.

If I had, this morning, woken up and thought “Well FUCK, it’s the 24th!” I would have been in a horrendous mood all day. As it was, I only realised the supposed significance of the number a little before I wrote this post, when I was contemplating love and literature. It was then that the thought of “Ohh hell” popped into my head, but it only lasted a short while because I immediately got to writing.

Yes, it’s just another day and I want you guys to remember that too. Say you have a horrible event that happened to you, and it’s a year since then. Let this new day make you remember why you’re still living, and that a year ago it may have been awful, but this is a new year, month, day and you’re not ruled by numbers.

Sometimes, though, it’s good to have a bit of sentimentality. As long as it doesn’t stray into upsetting you, it’s lovely to remember the nostalgically happy times.

Luckily, for all its sad connotations, the 24th is a good number for me. Do you have any days like this?

From Elm πŸ™‚

Jealousy is a Green-Eyed Monster, Except My Eyes are Brown

A fair few of my friends either “like” people, or are in relationships and my instinctive reaction is to be happy for them – in fact, it’s the reaction I always feel, because I just want people to be happy.

However, I’m the type of person who’s honest about how they feel, and so it horrified me to realise that I also feel a sick sense of sadness whenever I’m “faced” with it. Whenever I’m told, or whenever I see them together, I feel this muted and nasty envy, this shaky and awful reaction that crawls up my throat and turns my thoughts in on themselves. I hate it, and I almost hate myself for feeling it. I feel guilty, worried that my friends will see and misinterpret it as upset, and then never tell me anything.

I don’t quite hate myself, though: I know where it comes from, and so the energy spent hating myself isn’t worth it; I have far better things to do and there are worse parts of my personality than this. This one is almost understandable.

Today, I came to this realisation when I was doing my History work in my Psychology lesson (I was a rebel and hadn’t been given the Psych textbook). I immediately felt disgusted, asking myself:
“Is that how you feel about your friends? You’d be bloody jealous instead of accepting that they’re blissful, you’re not, and get over it? Is that who you really are, Elm – or do you like either of them? Is that it?”

I began to panic, thoughts whirling in a jumble of confusion, until I came to the conclusion that I was being stupid. I don’t like anyone; I don’t want a relationship, and that’s precisely why the answer is much more simple and causes much less angst than I originally thought.

I miss it. That’s all.

Ever since… Well, ever since I broke up with Aspen (my ex-boyfriend, NOT the blogger) almost a year ago now, “liking” somebody has always been tinged with a kind of fear, or worry. Of course, I’m happy when I do – like with Rapunzel and S – but with both of them, I was always paranoid, and it was broken up by the brief spells of euphoric happiness.

I miss liking someone with carefree innocence. The leaping feeling in my chest, hanging onto their words, looking forward to talking to them, and just feeling like I was in the clouds when I thought of all the things that made them up as a person. It was my heart racing, simply with anticipation, not clouded with any form of terror, and not wondering when it’ll end, when that pocket of beautiful prelude would shatter: when complexities weren’t part of the rulebook.

I no longer have that, and that sad reality is making me feel pretentious and too forlornly poetic to put any thought into solving it.

Since the end of my relationship with S, god, almost three months ago, it feels like I’ve been unable to “like” someone properly. Laurel (a girl who sits next to me in French) is just a passing thing, someone I respect and admire, a fleeting feeling of steadiness mixed with something new, but I can’t see it amounting to anything. I don’t really want it to, because “liking” somebody would be much too damaging for my own mental health.

My self-worth is still abismally low, underlined by the fact that I’ve been feeling awful recently. The whole relationship debacle just increased that to such a point that I can’t, at the moment, get over it and so I can’t have feelings for anybody. It hurts too much, the thought of letting my thoughts run away and tying themselves to someone – “liking” someone isn’t a calculated thing; it just happens, but letting it happen now would pretty much destroy me in the least dramatic way.

I know all this, and I also know that falling in love, having someone’s hand to hold or sharing myself with someone will happen eventually, but not now. I do miss it, though.

I’m not jealous of my friends. I’m more wishing for a feeling that’ right now, is out of reach and that’s alright. It’s not their feelings or relationship that hurts – it’s the fact that I’m incapable of having that. For now.

If you feel jealous of someone, analyse that jealousy. Don’t dismiss yourself as awful, but most times, there’s a lot more to simple jealousy than you’d think. You’re not a bad person for wanting something, but don’t let it consume you, and always remember: you’ll be alright one day. You aren’t alone. Take a step forward, and feel what feelings you want to feel.

From Elm πŸ™‚

Oh, Love…

I loved you once, in the autumn when you took the form of a solid bar of gold, then when you dulled to a wrong bronze in the winter; when you crumbled to missed chances in the spring and when you were new as a winged possibility in the summer. They say that spring is the time of new beginnings, but you were the time of new endings then, collapsing in on yourself as I bloomed, and then wilted.

Missing you is something I do frequently, when I compare you to the eighth of love I feel now, the diminished thought of a memory. I miss your beauty, the way my heart would skip and jolt, happiness lancing through my veins one second and then the presence of you, calming. “I love you,” you said, too many times, but was that you, Love? Perhaps you only descended once, twice, in the wreck of infatuation and the splinters of half-love that could not quite coalesce into you.

I feel sorry for you, for all the ways you could have been formed, but where you were never quite able to be seen. In a way I resent you for it, all of the running up of hills only to fall back, never cresting the peak. Where were you then, at my failings – though how can I blame you? You are love, nothing more. You filled me with temporary whimsicality, your antibodies still present to prevent the intrusion of your next attack, but never quite working. Should I thank you, I wonder?

You were secret, once, stolen away in droplets of tears, never said nor heard. You were a thread of happiness, tangled, until I could not distinguish you from the echo of a song you left. Where have you gone? Because you flew away, another golden feather clutched in your hands.

Your emotion is something I could never forget. In the quiet nights, the shining days, tampered down with the rationality of paranoia and swellings of affection for friends, family and strangers on the street. Still, you consumed me, opening rivers of thought I never knew I had.

I still love you, I suppose, but I ask myself which version? The version of you that held me with quiet certainty, or that was so soft and new I could barely breathe, or perhaps the you that glowed with your own familiar light until it moved, beaming to another star. Maybe all of you is still there, curled in my heart, a dormant dragon waiting to rise. Would I still love you, then, in the dulled sense I do now, or would the flames and silver scales heal the cracks? You neither know, nor care – do you, Love? You are just a person, or an idea, or a blend of both rolled into spun silk, ripped.

When you come back, don’t break my heart as you did before. Don’t be warped, twisted, turning my heart into a receptor for expectant pain; on my toes until the catch comes, just waiting to be proved wrong and for you to vanish into shadows. Don’t make false promises, that you’ll always be there; never say you can hold me forever. Don’t do the things that burn me, and I’m begging you, don’t show me you exist until I’m sure I have the strength to match you.

I can’t do it otherwise.

Please?

From Elm πŸ™‚

My Utterly Boring Life Update

“I’m a generic child and so I’m going to painfully update you on all the not-so-exciting happenings of my life,” she says, as she has said a thousand times before.

My curiosity about Laurel – the new girl in my French class who I sit next to, who is awesome – is growing. It’s a muted sort of fascination, a thread of something I could reach out and grab, though I’m not sure if I want to. As I’m losing the magic of that subject, the only thing keeping me motivated are the girls in my class and how lovely they are. I made a vague joke about my sexuality today, saying “Hah well I wouldn’t have that problem,” in reference to the film we’re watching where a gay girl says to a man that she wishes he was a woman so that she could love him like that. Laurel nudged me, laughing, and my mind flitted back to Pine’s house and how we so casually traded stories about our, ermmm, romantic preferences.

See, it could grow into more, but I know that I’m much too unstable currently both in terms of emotion and in terms of work ethic. I’ve been trying, but not hard enough; I completed a french mindmap today which made me feel accomplished, but apart from that, I haven’t done much. The history essay can go to hell, and so can the three English ones I haven’t done; I’m so very tired that I can’t cope with things and it’s not just because I’ve not been sleeping as much.

However, I do have something motivating me. I signed up for a campaign opportunity, and I’m going to be interviewed for it tomorrow. I won’t give much away because of anonymity, but I want to at least try. I hope that it’ll spur me into action. That, plus the fact I’m going to talk to my History teacher tomorrow, makes me feel better about things. Just let that sink in: ME, asking for help?! I’m shocked too.

I need to catch up on the Blogger Awards nominations; I’m rather behind. Tomorrow night, I’ll devote time to doing that. I should be less stressed by then, I hope. Thanks to everyone who’s submitted nominations – remember that voting closes on the 30th!

Whenever I actually dwell on my emotional state, I feel a bit blurry as I’m never sure how I’ll be. I can go from feeling slightly motivated – translating a french passage, writing up an essay – to not wanting to do anything. Productivity will help; if I don’t make those first steps, I won’t be able to do anything.

My romantic life is still shit; I’m not going to count Laurel into that just yet because I can’t deal with that. I’m cascading between opportunities, never taking them, always remembering the truly terrifying feeling of getting my heart smashed again and again at the mere thought of my lack of happiness in contrast to their happiness. It’s stupid, I know; I’m not clinging on necessarily but it’s rather an inability to move on as the rest of my mental health is low besides that. That’s a whole other post, but all I know right now is that I’m living despite it and I’m holding onto that. I hate nobody and I think that everyone involved, now or peviously, in my “love life” are fantastic people.

I’m going volunteering with Poppy and Rose at the weekend, which will make me so much happier because I love them both so much. It’ll make me more able to do work, too, and I’ll be out in the cold – laughing and joking and screaming – and I’ll love it. Later, we’re going to decorate the Christmas tree if they agree to come round, because I want to get in the festive spirit rather than being surrounded by darkness.

Yeah, my mental health may be rather dulled recently; I may not feel secure in my friendships or relationships with anyone; I may be so tired that I’m too exhausted to do much but I’m still living and I’m still here. I’ve got ways to help myself because I am so fucking sick of feeling like this.

From Elm πŸ™‚

I Cry for What We Had

I sat down to write this post and just burst into tears.

It’s partly because I don’t know how to express the depth of awful feelings I’m holding, because I shut myself off from it. It feels like it’s too much, so that I have no idea where to start. It’s also because of relief: I can finally release them – not that I’ve held myself back before, but over the last week, it’s been ripping at a wall inside my mind, and I’m crying because I’m letting myself talk about it.

There was this time in Thailand where I was kind of scared because it was late, my dad and stepmother had gone out and I was in a village on my own with people I didn’t know very well. S – my ex-boyfriend – stayed on the phone with me for 2 hours. He was there, all throughout it, listening to me get slightly hysterical. That was before we properly went out, but it was a possibility then; it was before he cheated on me, and the one thing that has emained constant is that I don’t blame him for anything. He was always there and the thing that kills me is that I felt like I took him for granted, took it all for granted, and now that I don’t have it any more I’m realising how incredibly happy I was. Despite my stress at the beginning of the school year, despite my paranoia, I was happy.

All of the late night conversations are replaying in my mind: the laughter, the way he understood me, and it’s making my tears fall faster than they have in a while. There were just little things: me jokingly referring to myself as his “bitch”, the way he spoke, the knowledge that we’d still be there despite anything, his reassurances that Pansy was a good friend of his and that was it – which was true up until the day we broke up. I remember our first kiss – I suppose the pain made it come to the forefront of my mind. God, that was well over a year ago.

After I bailed on him, back in October of last year, I’d contacted him and he (rightly) hadn’t had the best response because I broke stuff off with no explanation. Then, we started speaking again and it was beautiful because I could confide in him, and he’s known me for so long that it didn’t feel forced. That simple reality – that I’ve lost that, too, though god knows if he meant for it to be lost or not – makes me remember how it was after Ash and I broke friends. I hate losing people; I hate having my trust destroyed, and I also hate not being able to blame anything. I don’t want him to feel guilty, because if he felt what I was feeling now he wouldn’t be able to be happy with Pansy and that would be awful.

In the summer, it seemed so lovely, and it was. After a year of me being a dick, I’d finally come to my senses – because he’d been there, through so much, supporting me as I did him. But like with every fairytale, this one shattered, sooner than I thought. But it’s fucking over and yes, I’m sobbing, so that I can barely breathe, but what’s the point in hoping?

The thing is, I regret none of it. I’m cherishing the good memories we had, locking them away and holding them close, not revealing what exactly happened as I did with Ash. I learned my lesson there, but still, the sharp and raw sting of rejection of worn out promises burns.

At the heart of it, I miss what we had. I don’t care when people say that one day it’ll stop hurting, because that day is not today and I want to feel this utter misery for now, because it reminds me I’m human and I’m able to deal with it. Everything has accumulated itself: I heard a song earlier that we both love, and saw his name on Facebook, and saw her name too and it just killed. Because right now, I guarantee, they are laughing with each other, or will have today. Me? I’m crying. How stupid is that?

I feel wounded, is the best description for it, because they have forgotten. For good reason: I wanted them to; they should be happy, and not worry about me because I’m a bitter little snowflake. Nobody should have to deal with my tears, the pathetic ones I cry in the dark, because I’m becoming furious with my own mind. In the end, who cares? There are much more important things to deal with, and I’ll just exist until it all passes, until I can love without wanting to die.

It is just not fucking fair. All of it. The fact that I got cheated on, that I’m so unhappy, that I’m unmotivated. The fact that it was so nice before, that I felt secure because he’s a wonderful person, whereas now I’m a wreck in a storm with an ocean that could break me into tiny pieces. Whenever I feel sad, I feel guilty and even worse because of it, because I remember our conversation when he told me they were officially together, nearly 2 weeks ago. Ever since then, I’ve been disgustingly clingy, feeling terrible when I both don’t receive replies from people and don’t reply to them myself.

I sounded so awful. He seemed exasperated, but perhaps that was my mind recreating emotions that weren’t there. I have a habit of doing that. I told him that my thoughts were “irritating”, because if I’d told him the truth – which I then did – I would cry for hours – which I then did. Come to think of it, I think that everyone is irritated with me. Either that or they’ve had enough, as I’ve had enough with myself. My pain’s getting old, and I don’t want people to have time for me because they need to move on with their lives.

I dislike myself, and you may be asking “What’s there to dislike – this isn’t your fault!” It isn’t my fault, or his or hers, because life happens and someone was going to get hurt anyway: better me than her and I still stand by that. As with everything, I’ve somehow convinced myself that I’m not good enough in the slightest. I feel worthless, so much less than second best; if he liked me so much, then why did he cheat on me, and so that means that he didn’t like me much after all. That, coupled with the memories and together with my general feeling that people shouldn’t bother with me as all I’ll do is become possessive and sad, has grown into a terrifying blend of shit.

What’s holding me together? I don’t know. If he talks to me about my emotions again, it’ll probably make him feel bad or tired or guilty, and I don’t want that. I hope he uses the logic of his own mental well-being as to why he realistically shouldn’t talk to me because I care about him and I don’t want to ruin anything. But I hate things coming to an end, knowing that there’s nothing I can do.

I’m hurt. I’m so damn hurt and the worst thing is that this will happen over and over, to me and to everyone else. That brings me back: what makes me so special? What makes me worthy of any attention besides the average? Nothing because I’m just one broken girl in a sky of millions.

Breakdowns are going to happen to me for a long while, but the likelihood is I won’t advertise them. If I pretend to be okay, maybe I will be; if I tell myself that people are tired of my shit, perhaps that’ll make me stop feeling like this. I can’t, though. I have no energy.

I miss him, and I miss Pansy. I want to know how they are, but at the same time I want to scream and tear at myself, to cry but to not worry anybody. However, the sheer fact that I’m posting this shows me that I want people to notice, which is so screwed up.

This is the most disjointed thing I’ve written; I’m sorry for the nonsensical ramblings. I’m extremely done with myself, so drained, and all I want is for me to care about me. I know that a lot of you care about me, which is one of the things that helps.

No more hoping, or wishing, or thinking “What if…?” Because the what ifs are smashed and the hopes burned and the wishes were all wasted on a star that is no longer in my galaxy.

From Elm πŸ™‚

Getting Help

This morning, I didn’t want to wake up because I was so incredibly sick of feeling the awful emotional pain that I’ve been feeling for the last month, that was especially amplified yesterday after a situation that happened.

That terrifies me.

To know that your mind is so tired, and that you are so miserable that you inactively want to just stop for a bit – is something that has shaken me so badly. In all my periods of wanting to disappear, I’ve never woken up feeling so hopeless. I never want to wake up like that again.

It was partly this, the emotions and situations I’ve experienced recently and the encouragement of my friends that has pushed me into really considering getting professional help, in some sort of form. A few months ago I would have never considered that, because I’m eternally convinced that there’s nothing wrong with me and that I’m making it up – but that just shows me that I need it, because I’m not fine and I think I have some unresolved issues that I’ve refused to address.

After I published this post, both Ivy and Wren messaged me. Both of them are amazing friends of mine, always there for me, and they know pretty much all sides of me. They said the same thing: “I’m worried about you, Elm.” “I really think you should consider seeing someone because we can only do so much.”

Yesterday, before everything kicked off, I told my dad that I maybe wanted to see a therapist, if I could find one. It was one of the most nerve-wracking yet casual conversations ever: I told him how I was feeling, that I was worried, and not that I didn’t think it was serious. As much as I’m convinced it isn’t, I think I owe it to myself to do something about it.

Then, what I like to term “Elm Breakage 3.0” happened. I won’t go into what exactly I “broke” from because privacy’s important, but I’ve never felt that guilty for crying in my life.

I paced around my room, gripped my hands together until it was just below painful, and then was on the floor sobbing. I’m only telling you this to set the scene: over the next 3 hours, I cried on and off, heart feeling like it was being destroyed all over again. The sheer horror of it, confusion as to why it had to happen now, and just general pain stacked up into a tower of spiralling thoughts. At midnight I walked into my dad’s room and cried, and barely got any sleep.

This is exactly why I’m quite worried. I can’t carry on like this, even though all of me wants to curl up. If it was just the cheating, I’d be more okay, but it’s lingering feelings of utter worthlessness. The skin below my eyes was slightly red this morning, and when I felt it it was a little sore. That’s not good, and neither is not sleeping much.

At break, I spoke to Red; it was so refreshing to talk to him about everything. As I spoke, my eyes widened and I could barely hold back tears. He understood me, though, and I think out of all of my friends he gets how I literally can’t move on right now. There was no judgement, no “you’ll be fine’s!”s from him that rang of empty promises; like with the majority of my friends, he knows that I can’t be okay for a while because I have to deal with these terrifying emotions.

Something that he said really hit home. “Maybe you’ll move on in a few months. Maybe you never really will.” Unfortunately, I know my own mind when it comes to this, and it takes me a long time to move on from people. It makes it especially difficult as S and I were good friends before all of this for years, knowing each part of the other from cringy pre-teen to now. The fact is, similarly to Ash, he’ll always be in the back of my mind. Unlike Ash, it’s not toxic to me, and I’m ready to accept that. I’m going to write a post on the parallels and differences to how I felt in both situations, at some point.

Now, I know that I need some sort of help. Yesterday, I got to the point where I felt bad for even telling someone that I felt bad. I questioned every single thing I’d ever said to S, to anyone; all of the conversations and tears and attention-seeking comments I’d made ripping away at me.

As Wren said, I’m pretty certain I have a fair few self-esteem problems, along with an unhealthy dose of disgust towards myself. Currently, I hate myself for various reasons, not least because of the things I’ve said to people that I thought were right at the time:
“I feel so miserable.”
“You’re so lucky, you know?”
“Yeah, it’s irritating because if I say how it really is, I’ll cry my eyes out and not be able to get up for a long time.”

There’s too much of it: feelings, pain, denial. I refuse to admit I have any serious problems, because that’s so disrespectful to those that do. I’m just having a “mental cold” right now, and pretending it’s something else won’t do me any good.

Still, any problem with mental health should be addressed. I can’t do this on my own, not when it feels like it’s choking me. Not when I am still telling myself that nobody really cares. Illogical maybe, but I’ve lost trust in everything, and that includes myself.

You should always get help if you need it. Even if you don’t think you need it, if someone else does think you do, listen to them. Whether I’m going because my friends want me to go or because Ow want to get help, either way, it may make me better. That’s what matters.

It won’t happen overnight. It won’t happen for a long time; I’m not deluding myself. I still don’t understand how they can be happy when I’m so entirely horrific, when I feel like I’m drowning in a sea of hurt. In the end, it’s just life.

I’m scared of me, of how I could think. I’m scared of who I could become, of letting go, of finally losing all hope. Because of that, I’m going to get help. Somehow.

From Elm πŸ™‚

1 Month and I’m No Better

Around this exact time, it’s a month since everything officially went to hell with my love life. A month. Admittedly to my surprise, I feel no better: in fact, cumulitively over the past few weeks, it’s all been screaming inside my mind.

If you don’t know what’s been happening, it’d be good to read this post and if you have time, posts relating to that situation, but that’s the starting point.

Oh my god; it actually happened. They kissed, a month ago, and even though there had been little breaks in my heart in the week before that, that night was when it finally shattered.

It’s a month since I told someone that I wanted to die, pacing up and down my room and gasping like I was choking, unable to comprehend truly how fragile I felt. How everything – not just this – had built up, into an unbearable chasm that tore itself around the edges. That feeling of wanting to die has surfaced more, emphasised by the fact that I haven’t properly spoken about this in a while except to two people (who helped me).

I am horrified. Silent tears in Paris are invading my mind, an embrace I wish meant more, but could never again. All of the negativity over the last year has roared into a crescendo. It’s almost too much, so I’m dealing with it all now.

Last night, and the night before, I cried so hard that my heart felt like it was bursting. I don’t understand. I don’t understand why this had to happen to me, why he couldn’t be a shittier person – because that would make it easier. Why now, I’m being ignored and why I feel so fucking lonely.

When I think about it, I’m terrified of my mind. There’s a history of bad mental health in my family, and I’ve been known to get violent towards myself and I don’t want that to turn into anything serious. At the moment, I can barely write through a haze of worry and panic and half-numbness.

I am not okay. I’m not alright; I sobbed a few minutes ago until I didn’t feel like me any more. Remembering everything, drowning in memories that were half-lovely and half-shards of pain, because how am I supposed to pick myself up? I’m wishing for something long gone and god, I want these awful attention-seeking tears to stop.

My hands clenched into fists, trying to reconcile with myself that this wasn’t even a noteworthy or serious thing. That really, being alone where I could let tears slide down my face was preferrable to anyone seeing me that way.

The heart of the matter is that I want the people that are involved with this situation to care, but at the same time, I want them to forget about me so that they can find happiness. I want them to know I’m sad, but i don’t because they don’t deserve to and I’m just one person. S and Pansy are wonderful people, and it’s just me here bitter and so miserable that I want to tear out my hair.

How did it come to this? When I thought I would be okay, in the days after, I envisioned me in a month’s time finding it easy to smile. I knew that it would take time, but I didn’t expect me to still be crying now.

What burns is that he’s moved on and I haven’t. I can’t. I still have feelings, stupid illogical feelings, and it hurts when my friends tell me he’s nothing but a dick because he isn’t. He has always told me the truth, and I’m not deluded into thinking like I did with Ash because I know the signs of that.

I’m not naive about THIS. I know exactly what messaging him and receiving no reply does to me; I know what it’s like when I think of them together, because they’re travelling with each other this weekend. When I realised that, I knew that my mind would invent scenarios of them being happier that I could ever be, and that started the cycle of me remembering I’d been replaced with a girl who’s a brilliant person.

The laughter. The good memories. They’ll have it, and I had it and I don’t any more. That simple reality is choking me, because I miss him and I miss it and I miss my easy smiles. Simple, solitary things remind me of it all: a certain phrase, someone talking a little like him, anything: it sets me off into a spiral of sadness that I can’t stop.

At school, I pretend to be at least semi-fine. Otherwise, I’ll break down, and never be able to get up again. My work’s okay, but I can’t pretend to be great any more. Not when I feel like the people that matter don’t care, when deep down, I know they do. It’s just everything in my mind telling me that when I cry, people are only pretending to help. That if I stop, nobody will remember.

I don’t blame myself for this, but I still hate myself. My clinginess, the fact that I’ve completely neglected my friends; I’ve shut myself off. It’s high time I realised that it’s over, get the hell over it, and stop my heart from feeling so incredibly void of love.

Why did I have to get cheated on? Why am I left behind; why do I still want to disappear? Only for a second – not permanently – but it’s still there. It’s not healthy and I want to get help. In fact, that’s something I will definitely do, because at the moment I need it.

I can’t be expected to let go right now. I’m too utterly screwed over from everything, and I almost don’t want to lose feelings for him yet because I’d be forcing it, and that would be worse. It’s important that I give myself time, that I ldon’t make myself do anything, because time heals all wounds.

I wish I could tell you that I’ll be happy soon, but I won’t. I’m just going to hold on and I know you’ll be here, as you have been for everything.

I’m sick of it. Sick of feeling broken, sick of being broken, and sick of feeling like everything I say is so melodramatic and over-the-top. Without me there, without even the thought of me, they’ll forget and move on and that’s good. I don’t want to taint anything, because at the root of it, I just want them to live and smile and love. If I’m just a speck on the indefinable horizon for them, it’s just life, and it will be okay.

There’s no conclusion to this. No “don’t worry about me” because as much as I believe you shouldn’t, I couldn’t change your mind if you are. No “this is what I’m going to do”, because right now I don’t care; maybe soon I can figure it out but all I want to do is cry.

No “I’ll find someone else” because I don’t want to. I can’t move on at the flick of a switch, and I’ve suppressed so many emotions over the last few months that they’re all going to come back and overload me.

I’m just going to be, and not pretend I’m doing good. I’m not – not yet, though I know I will be. Showing that to you will help me, in the end.

Love from Elm πŸ™‚

If I Shout Loud Enough

For the past hour, I’ve been on the edge of a complete emotional breakdown. Crying, sobbing, overwhelming pain – I can feel it just behind my eyes and in my heart, but it hasn’t broken out yet.

I suppose a total breakdown is overdue. I haven’t had one in two weeks – not since I saw S last – and that has made it so that now, I feel empty and numb. God knows how I’ll write this post, because earlier I was burning up with such sadness that I could barely breathe.

As stupid as this sounds, I feel like not many people properly care about me. That’s the root of the problem, isn’t it? But it’s not even that.

I know that people care about me. When it comes to the S situation, though, I feel as if I’m shouting into a void where no one’s listening. You guys listen, and about three of my friends, but apart from that? I don’t know who to turn to. In short, I don’t know what to do.

Two nights ago, I cried. Pitiful sobs, tears sliding down my face and onto my pillow, and it was the most awful feeling in the world. Then and now, I felt hollow and like my heart was bursting. It’s rare that I cry on my own, but there was an exception for that night; nobody knew about it because I was ashamed.

It hit me earlier that I feel attention-seeking. I am lonely, even when surrounded by people, but I feel like if I say something, people will laugh at me and not do anything about it. That goes for everything else – when does my pain get “old”? When do people no longer want to hear about it, when do they get sick of me constantly going on about it?

This specific worry has caused me to shut myself off a little. At the moment, I genuinely don’t think I’m worth the effort of having people ask me if I’m okay, yet still my little heart begs for it. I find that awful, but what else can I do?

“You alright?”
“Yep, I’m fine!” but they see the slight not-fine on my face. I’ve managed to hide most of it, so that people don’t see the true extent of how I feel inadequate, like I’m nothing. It’s payed off, because I can distract myself, but on days like these I can’t hold the raw hurt back.

It’s not that I blame S or Pansy – though I was cheated on, it wasn’t them that created this chaos in my head. Rather, it’s the situation plus all of the things that have happened over the past year, building up into a crescendo of god-awful mental health. If this carries on, I’ll become much more concerned, and I’ll get help for it even if I don’t think I deserve it.

Why I’m Feeling Awful
β€’ I’m pretty sure I’m being ignored by a fair few people and I can’t deal with that because I’m pathetic
β€’ I can’t move on at all
β€’ Every day they’ll be making happy and funny memories with each other and I won’t be
β€’ I miss multiple people so much that I feel cold
β€’ I tried to finish a song that I’m performing tomorrow and I couldn’t and now I feel disgusting
β€’ I know that I’m overreacting
β€’ I’m scared that I’m going to scratch at myself
β€’ I’m scared that I want to

One day, I’ll be okay but I’m so far from that now that I can’t kid myself that it’ll be soon. All of this has had far-reaching consequences on my mental state, such as the growing fear that I’ll never be enough for anyone and that I should give the fuck up. I’m half-laughing because never would I have thought this would be how I’d be feeling.

Why is it like this? Why do I feel so helpless, and why do I want to show people that? I shouldn’t, because that’s manipulative and cruel, but I suppose that’s human nature.

I’m shaking; tears are finally spilling over. Good. Maybe if I cry, it can get the misery out a bit. All I can feel is this dull pain whenever I think of them together, because I’m so drained. I’m not happy and they are and hell, the reality of that feels like a mark on my skin.

Replacement makes you feel shit. I want to be enough, to be held and loved but I can’t deal with that. My thoughts are ragged and alone and huddled in a corner because I’ve let them out. Not being able to write that song today caused the most accute feeling of self-hatred, further amplified by the knowledge that how I spoke to him before will never happen again.

I don’t know how to explain how truly bad I feel, but I hope I’ve shown you a little. It’s good that you can get inside my head, that you respect me enough to read my posts.

Perhaps if I scream loud enough, someone will hear. Perhaps if I stay silent, people can move on with their lives and love who they want to love without feeling guilty because of me. Because really, am I worth anything? I was a first, and the first is never usually the last.

I have no clue.

From Elm πŸ™‚