she is insecure. and i mean, really insecure. she craves the attention of boys her age and even the slightest incoming flirtation leads her to see stars and feel high for hours. she listens to magazines, she really does. and if they tell her to “be smaller and sexier” and inform her that “this is how your makeup should look” and show her “how to lose weight in three days,” she actually changes everything about herself. and when girls make fun of her and her body weight and her fake tan that she puts on because they previously created petty jokes about her pale tone, she swallows it and fuels herself with it and once again, changes who she is.
she is dependent. and i mean, really dependent. almost like an apathetic liquid, she takes the shape of her surrounding container. with every person who threatens to leave her life, she allows her moods and morals and beliefs and feelings and aspirations and every other spine-strengthining characteristic to fluctuate with ease.
she is safe. and i mean, really safe. she always wants a sure plan. she always wants every detail and every consequence laid out for her in the beginning because she will not be taking any blind chances. she doesn’t say what she feels and she doesn’t fall in love and she doesn’t try anything outside of her comfort zone on the absolute basis of rejection sitting right around the corner.
she is judgmental. and i mean, really judgmental. she has no right to be, but she still sticks her nose up at the slightest of deviation. everyone has their own flaws but she puts everyone under a microscope and finds what she doesn’t like and shuts them out completely.
she is alone. but this is because of the previous statement. she shuts beautiful, strong, funny and uplifting people out of her life for no solidified reason and then rests her head on her pillow at night and feels entirely secluded. completely desolate. fully detached.
she is my inspiration. how weird is that? this pathetic, lifeless and closed-off bobble-head is my influence.
she is me. she was me. and to this day, i push myself to never step back into the tiresome, repetitive and mindless life of a younger me.
“we are products of our past, but we don’t have to be prisoners of it.” – quote not by me, although i wish it were.
on a completely separate note, i miss you more than you could ever imagine. i regret 70% of the weeknights that i didn’t go to frat row with you. i regret all the times i didn’t go down macclane with you. and i regret fighting for the last two weeks of school with you because that is precious time that we could have conquered sigma chi and dunkin donuts with. i anxiously await the unknown date that i will see you again because you are one of my soul sisters. and i don’t say that phrase often.