Things Found in My Notes: Part 1

If I don’t have a notebook on me, I’m often typing away in the notes section of my iPhone trying to get out whatever thoughts are currently rambling through my head. Sometimes when I type, I think it’s the most brilliant piece of writing that I’ve ever come up with. Then, I go back, read it, and think “what in the world was I even talking about?” I’ve decided to start sharing some of the pieces I’ve found in my notes. I hope you enjoy. Part 1.

October 12, 2012

I think I should start off by saying that I’m of average height. I’m not too tall, I’m not too short, I’m just somewhere in between. That explains a lot about me, to be honest. Explains most of the things in my life.

I’m afraid of many things, like falling asleep on buses and slipping in the bath tub. I fear the brittle cold of my fingertips when the heater shuts off for the evening and letting go of secrets late at night. I slip in this comfortable sadness too easily and that scares me the most.

I don’t like the sound of a car horn or of dogs barking too loudly. I hate the incessant heat of the summer where your clothes are sticking to your body and you can smell your own sweat. I hate how you get sleep in your eyes, such a silly term, but love it when a young child rubs at it early in the morning.

I hate the irregular pauses of my breathing when I’m about to have a panic attack. The fast breaths and pains in the bottom half of my chest. The shaking of my hands as I try to grasp on to something. To hold on to something that will keep me grounded and safe. I never feel too safe anymore.

I think I should tell you that, although I’m not religious, I love Christmas time. I love the songs and the snow and the excitement in the faces of strangers. I like the happy glow of lights on passing couples faces as they cross the street with their gloved hands interlocked. I love the rosy cheeks and the fact that you can see your breath whenever you talk or sigh.

You should know that I laugh too loudly at sitcoms when I’m by myself and cringe afterwards. I drink to forget things and fear that fact. That something bad could happen if I continue living that way. I always think something bad is going to happen and often run away at the thought. Run away at any possibility of something being good if it’s clouded with bad. My idea of bad.

I wear red lipstick too much and love when it’s smudged across my face. But, hardly speak aloud because I’m afraid most of the things I say are uninteresting. Especially after that boy told me I was prettier with my mouth shut in the darkness of his room.

I like being disheveled. Clothes falling off my shoulders and my hair in every direction. I smile too often and kiss people, who don’t mean anything to me, too passionately.  I stumble over my words and fumble around in the dark for a light switch in case of monsters.

I wish that I was much more interesting, so people would be drawn to me. I collect quotes and hide them in the nightstand of my bed. I write often about people that don’t think often about me. People I wish I could kiss passionately, but let slip away by kissing them tentatively.

I grow out my hair and get bored in the middle of the night and cut it off. When I’m lonely, I let the cool breeze from the window tickle my skin and hug my pillow to my chest.

I am often lonely.

I bite my lips so much they become bruised and I often point my toes towards each other when I walk and I don’t like to look at people in the eye because I fear they’ll know all my secrets and upon reading this I feel you’ll pierce my soul with your eyes and never want to speak to me again.

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