Every Friday night, I vow I will not hook up with him.
I don’t want to hook up with him. I never cum. Because I don’t let him touch me. Because he doesn’t make me feel safe because he’s aggressive in a nonconsensual way. I also don’t want to enjoy it. Because then I will begin to actually like him. And I can’t like him because he doesn’t like me. And he’s too similar to my ex anyway.
Regardless, once the weekend rolls around and I’ve had enough drinks, I am all over him. And then I wake up naked and alone, feeling stupid.
Repost from 2012
I had never been so scared in my life. I watched my friend’s face contort as she read the rest of the letter that I had handed to her. She looked kinda pissed. But then again she always looked kinda pissed. I guess she looked extraordinarily pissed off as she read the letter-
“Wow,” she sighed, cutting my nervous thoughts off. She didn’t look at me right away, she just fiddled with the letter, her face twisted in thought. I looked straight ahead of me, watching the little kids draw on the blacktop in chalk. They were so cute and happy. I wish I were the same way.
“So everything is still up in the air? You don’t know what’s going to happen?”
She finally looked over at me, her expression cautionary. Evidently she didn’t know how to go about things or what to say. But neither did I.
I shrugged my shoulders, slumping a bit as I began to think of what this evil villain that I’ve created has dragged me into, thinking about how this villain, that was, but wasn’t me, has ruined my life. There was only one way to terminate this evil villain because I couldn’t be my own superhero, but those thoughts have landed me in this fucked up situation in the first place.
© 2015 Vic Romero
Three years isn’t a long time in the grand scheme of life, but at my age (I’m nineteen), it feels substantial.
Three years ago I was in high school, which is a completely different world in contrast to college. I was a minor at age sixteen and in the midst of my downward spiral of depression. I also lost my best friend three years ago. Not “lost” as in death, but “lost” as in, no longer friends.
I lost most of my friends three years ago, but only one of those losses wasn’t my fault. That loss hurt me the most.
TRIGGER WARNING: suicide
I’ve been training to be a sexual violence response advocate for the past three weeks, and it’s been very difficult. Aside from the material itself being upsetting, the training has triggered unpleasant memories as well. I’ve also had multiple nightmares about being drunk.
Saturday Repost from Fall 2012
“I’m reading The Perks of Being A Wallflower right now and a lot of it is really hitting home for me…it’s kinda scary.
This time last year, I was losing myself, I was depressed, and I didn’t care. As long as my grades looked okay, everything was okay with me…I hung out with the wrong crowd…But then it hit me: Why am I doing this? I’m miserable. I lost a lot of my friends. My “new friends” are shitty friends. They’re not even friends. They don’t talk to me unless I’m doing something stupid with them.
Then came the summer, I started putting my life back together.
I ignored the cramps in my fingers as I fervently knitted the hat I was making, pushing my pestering thoughts out of my head. Although this was a soothing activity, which was something I severely needed after being berated, it was also a mindless activity. I was trying to swaddle my bruised heart with the black yarn that gleamed with red sparkles, but it was futile. No amount of swaddling would heal my heart…I had to heal my heart myself. So I tentatively succumbed to my pestering thoughts, thinking that if I faced them head-on, I would be able to accept them better. When I started paying attention to my thoughts though, they became louder and overwhelming. I squeezed my eyes closed and began to think of something positive in a desperate attempt to push back the tears that I knew would soon be flooding my eyes. When I reopened my eyes, all I focused on were the needles in my sore hands, using the pain to create something warm and beautiful.
© 2015 Vic Romero
I’ve been home for two days and they’ve both been arguably the shittiest days of 2014. I ended up hysterically sobbing to the point of puking in a parking lot and afterwards I called my boss, who’s like a mom to me, and she made me feel a lot better about everything. I usually would write about all the shit that’s going down at the same time that’s caused me to wish that I wasn’t alive anymore but everything that’s happened in the span of two days is still too sensitive for me to write about. I basically feel alone, rejected, pathetic, and…scared as hell. I’m afraid that I’m losing everything that mattered to me…and there were only a few things that I cared about so…it sucks.
Anyway…I hope my break can’t get any worse. Yeah, I can’t sleep nor can I eat but as long as nothing else awful happens hopefully I’ll be able to…feel like myself again. Right now I just feel numb.
Stomach caving in
I feel my face paling
I feel like I’m dying
Tears trickle down my face
Down my neck
Over my bloody heart
It was handed back to me
I feel like I’m dying
Blood mixing with tears
Embarrassment colors my cheeks pink
Before I pale again
I’m so ashamed
I want to forget
So many mistakes and regrets
Apologies have dried out my lips
Forgiveness feels stiff
It still has to be worn in
I can’t take this anymore
Disappointment sears my heart
I feel like I’m dying
Then my heart finally stops
© 2014 Vic Romero
I begin to pull my skin away-
Off of my body
Stepping out of it
As if it were a body suit
Flinging it into the dusty corner
Where my hair resides
I stare at myself in the mirror
All muscles and bones
I begin to tear off my muscle
Losing all of my strength
Losing all that I’m made of
Soon I’m just a skeleton
The only muscles are a set of eyes
So I yank my power source out
It’s warm in my hand
The blood pours out
Then go my eyes and brain
Then I’m just another skeleton.
But I’ve always been dead.
© 2012 Vic Romero
I wrote this when I was seventeen during my junior year of high school. I had been struggling with my identity and accepting myself since I was around twelve and/or thirteen…I think that age is when most people begin to struggle with who they realize they are. Anyway…I used to be really depressed and today I spent a lot of time reflecting on things and thinking…
I’m proud of myself for finding self-peace…I no longer loathe and resent myself…I’m proud of who I am and I strive to be better as well. I’ve come a long way and there’s a lot more to go on this road but I will not allow myself to ever feel the way I did in my past…I am strong and I am amazing and I am excited for what the future has in store for me. Most importantly though, I feel alive.
why don’t you care that you hurt me? what changed? now you just don’t love me…you don’t even like me? you have no respect for me? why don’t you care? i was good to you…i’ve given you all my love and showed compassion for you, although you hurt my heart
BUT I’M STRONGER NOW!!! I REFUSE TO SUCCUMB TO THE PAIN THAT YOU ARE TRYING TO CAUSE ME!!!!
but why are you doing this? who are you? i thought i mattered to you. i thought you loved me.
I ALWAYS KNEW THAT I LOVED YOU MORE, HEY, WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR? HURTING EACH OTHER UNTIL ONE’S SORE, I ALWAYS KNEW I LOVED YOU MORE
because i’d never do that to you…don’t you realize the hell you’ve put me through? all i wanted was you…
MAYBE THIS IS REVENGE FOR ALL THE CRIMES I COMMITTED TO MY FORMER FRIENDS…
no…i still don’t deserve this. i’ve apologized for my petty sins. but if this is the same thing as before, it has nothing to do with me…maybe she’s struggling.
© 2014 Vic Romero