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#nponpermanentrepeat I Didn’t Know My Own Strength - Whitney Houston + Recover - Natasha Bedingfield

We hurt so gaddamn much, that we should be immune if we are still alive. How are we still alive?

For what its worth, I don’t expect you to be psychic.
Boys always get off saying that they cant read our minds, and know what we are thinking all of the time, especially whenever they ask and you reply saying the old, acceptable line of "I'm fine".
Boys get off saying that girls are difficult, always dramatic, overly dramatic, and looking for reasons to get into an argument. Boys get off saying that we have plenty trouble trailing our behinds, following us, making us seem irrational and inconsistent with our emotions. They find it so easy to blame it on PMS, Ovulation, or any other hormonal occurrences in our body.
So for whatever it might be worth, I really do not expect that you should be omniscient, knowing everything, reading every line on my face. For what its worth, I do not expect you to understand that as a girl, I'm complicated because things hurt me deeper, easier, and I heal slower. That I'm a true love lover.
I don’t expect a perfectly understanding boyfriend, actually I did, but all I got in its stead was a somewhat clueless boyfriend, immune to my tantrums, mood swings, and facial/body language. At first I thought it was cool that he didn’t care much, and didn’t let my overly outraged feminine tactics bother him much, but now I realize that he just didn’t get it.
For what its worth, I'm making a public announcement that I'm done looking for perfection…what does that even mean?
For whatever it might be worth, I want whoever reads this to know that I don’t expect him to be psychic…I just expect you to be sensitive enough to read my emotions.

My love is almost an experiment each time. To see how selfish I can be. To see if I can really carry on to snare a possible lover. To see if I am capable of debasing myself for the love of another. To see if I can stand not being wanted when I want to be wanted. To test my weaknesses and overwork my strengths. To expose myself to hurt each time, and see if I can withstand the pain of my heart breaking, almost each time.
I am a deliberate love addict. Humans are constantly hungry for love and I am proudly human, getting pulled to wherever I find love. Love means to love that which is unlovable, so I constantly test myself, push myself to the limitless walls of love. I constantly find those boys that give excuses, deliberately or otherwise, wound me. I experiment on their excuses.
Each boy a project, each relationship an experiment. My love is almost an experiment each time.

But loving someone is such hard work, constantly striving to please someone and place the person ahead of yourself. But I love love, and everything that it carries with it in its back pocket - jealousy, lust, trust, insecurity, passion, hurt, affection, and the crazy mind blowing sex?. I love love, and love loving love…I must have been down this road a million times(well, not a million times), and each time I let myself get sucked into the drama of it.
My love is almost an experiment each time, but for what its worth (In all honesty and precision), I think its love that's experimenting on me. I don’t know who's doing it, I thought I was but, I was stupid. I was able to be hurt, and that’s not real, not anymore. We should be immune to hurt if we're still alive.

How are we still alive? How are we stir able to love whole-heartedly, each time, after each hurt, after each heartbreak? How are we able to constantly debase ourselves for love, stripping our bodies of all ego and pride…only to have ridicule thrust upon us.
*sigh*

How are we still able to love? How are we still alive?
We Recover? We are not built to break? Don't know our own strengths?
Ok!

Debased ...

He didn’t just take my innocence, he took my hope.

When I was 8, he said to me "Girl, look how fast you're filling out", as he played with my hair, "In a couple of years you're gon be all grown child".

When I was 10, he said to me, "Everybody gives Uncle Tony a kiss before going to bed in this house", as he stroked my cheek. My mother's house.

When I was 12, on a drunken night, he broke down my room door and covered my screaming lips and held down my fighting legs and thrust himself inside me.
When I was 12, he started killing my soul. Little girls like me never grow up, they just die.

The kind of hurt that he made me feel, it doesn’t go away.

My mother walked into the room and all she saw was the mess in the room, not the whimpering child curled up in a ball in the corner , and all she said to me, as she looked at the bloody sheets around my waist was "Child, You only got your period."

And I shook my head, "He hurt me ma, he pushed, and he held me down", I said with soundless tears streaming down my face.

My mother said to me, "Hush your mouth child, you only got your period"

….and now, its been 25 years, I can hear my daughter screaming in the room next to mine, her father had a bad day. When she comes to me crying, I'll hold her, wash her up, and tell her soothingly, "Hush little baby, Daddy loves you…you only got your period".

Regrets 20.03,09

All those times I didn’t walk away, when I knew it was best to go, seem to be coming back to haunt me tonight.

Of all nights, does it have to be tonight?

And I sit back, thinking on everything, and finally I see, they were never mistakes…every action had been carefully and diligently planned in my sub-conscious mind, but yet, as usual, tonight again, I shifted the blame to my silently accepting helplessness.

I know I should hold nobody responsible for my actions except myself, I am no stranger to the voices constantly echoing inside of my head, and yet, as usual, tonight again, I ignored them, hoping in vain that they’ll fade away.

I realize that soon enough everything will catch up, because frankly I cannot run from them much longer. And I know, without anybody whispering to me, that when I finally stop long enough to catch my breath, karma is going to sneak up on me. And who would I blame then? Knowing fully that I’m the one responsible for my circumstances, and yet, as usual, tonight again, I fight myself, I truly fight myself.

You have been everything you have said you would be, and yet I hold you responsible for what I do to me. It’s so easy to fall into that same old routine. I call it a mistake, you call it, unfortunate. So as usual, tonight again, I ask for permission to take advantage of your love, to use you because you always understand.

I realize that you may not always be there, here, and I know that a time will come when I will cry, and cry, begging you not to leave me, that this will be the last time, all the while knowing fully well that the last time will be a next time, and the next time will be a last time…till the last time doesn’t come. Because “the last time” doesn’t exist for me.

And yet, even as I type this, I realize that it really isn’t my entire fault. It is possible to lie, but I have chosen to always say the truth, no matter how aggressive or unfaithful it may be. Because I realize I’d rather live without you honestly, than live a lie in your love. And for that alone, I deserve your sympathy, once again, I ask for understanding, because I do love you.
And I do love you…hopelessly…completely…faithfully. And yet, as usual, tonight again, I try to convince no one else but myself, that I never meant to hurt you. Once, I called it a mistake, but now, I call it foolishness.

And I ask you to please still love me. I feel no shame in begging for your undying love, because I still, always will, love you…hopelessly…completely…faithfully.