Kolvenblog

“Don’t trust anybody. Life is safer that way.”

-Shae, Game of Thrones

Every time

I start to feel unconditionally happy with you, my mind races to point out every single reason why I shouldn’t be.

Often I wonder when I will feel something enthusiatically toward someone again. Everything is dull.

Anonym fragte: was jeff a good bf?

Jeff was an excellent boyfriend. A tad overly emotional but the question of whether that brands him as a bad boyfriend is obviously debatable. He cared. And that’s more than what can be said of many guys.

Anonym fragte: Haha do you actually think we like you?!!

To be politely honest, I don’t really give a shit if someone who is too afraid to unambiguously address me does not “like” me. But thanks for the useful input, Anon.

Anonym fragte: are you still in love with jeff han?

Some parts of me are. Like my eyes when we FaceTime. Or my ears when I hear the amazing music I stole from him to adequately adorn my iPod. Or my fingertips when I hug the stuffed dog that he gave me. Or my heart when I start thinking…or feeling…or getting lost in myself and my impossible life.

I have been quite the open book lately.

A touch of concern brushed my cheek but I swatted it away like the little fly of a pest it should remain. It is but so incredibly easy to be an open book when you lack any ounce of the hesitant shame that can shove its thick fist down your throat in a dash to catch that slight whiff of self confidence finally bubbling up from the depths of your stomach. But I swatted that pesky, little concern away and took heed of this new and exciting bubble that seemed nearly, ready, to pop.

This fleeting reunion with Tumblr has taught me little more than that I need to go on a tremendous shopping spree at H&M. And that I should possibly try mushrooms.

Thanks, Hipsters, thanks.

Kolvenblog

Blogging at a stoplight because it just feels too good.

I believe that I’ve gotten to the point in my identity development where I simply lack the time or energy to waste on a guy who refuses to respect me.

That being said,

I should apologize for all of the harsh judgments that I have passed on people over the past year. I obviously did so because I did not truly understand the reasoning or circumstances behind their actions. Most of all, I did not understand that it was none of my damn business what they did with their own lives. After experiencing so many of these previously judged behaviors as well as the pain of being judged for them, I am determined to avoid this type of ignorant behavior in the future. Sorry to all those random sorority girls who I laughed at for wearing dresses that were way too short and for smoking cocaine outside of the fraternity houses. Sorry for calling whole chapters “skanky” or for giving their cherished letters degrading nicknames. Exceptionally sorry for calling my soon-to-be fellow rave community “unclassy.” Sorry to my ex-best friend for passing so much judgment on her for simply leading her own life her own way. I am a hypocrite. And I am not afraid to admit my flaws. Because as I no longer expect to judge others, I will also no longer judge myself.

Love,

A happier, cleaner Megan

You told me

that I was being “unladylike” about 24 hours ago.

And for the past 24 hours I have been dwelling on that one, ungentlemanly remark. It’s crazy how a guy can yield that kind of power over a girl. It’s crazy how much such a simple, seemingly innocent comment actually hurt me. It honestly made me reflect on all of my actions of late, forcing me to question my own self worth. That one, simple insult built upon my recent blossoming insecurities regarding my social actions and, once again, forced me to question the very person that I have turned into. One smart, little comment made by you and my world is somehow transformed into a tyrannic storm of regret.

And after hours of contemplating and questioning and obsessing and wondering and regretting and sleeping and my conscience yelling at me and my immorality nowhere to be found, I finally got the answer that I was looking for.

“Well then crap, I’m trashy, too. Whatever, I embrace it. I’m a slut but, boy, do I have a great time!”

And for the first time in the span of those last 24 hours, I laughed out loud and my immorality curled her perfectly glossed lips back over her teeth and laughed with me.

“Exactly,” she hissed towards me, “Since when did you start caring what they think again? Remember how boring life was back when you cared so much? You have to admit you’ve been having so much-“

“Stop! Megan, you were finally starting to think straight again. You have been out of control lately. It’s shameful,” my conscience tucked her arms across a buttoned-up chest.

My palms were sweaty. Was I ever to learn the intricate art of moderation?

But my immorality turned up the EDM and brought me back to Beyond and, somehow, I forgot why I had been sad all along.

Ah, there was a point to this blog. You. Go fuck yourself. That’s right. I am so incredibly sick of my feelings being under the control of some nameless guy. If it’s not you, then you, or you, or YOU. In a couple of weeks they will probably be under the control of some other guy so why in the hell of the Earth should I pay any worry about what you of all worthless people think of me?! Who gave you ultimate reign over my emotions? You may be extremely attractive and successful and charming but which of those attributes qualifies you to pass judgment and control my self-worth? Great, another arrogant, hot, frat asshole. How refreshing. Give me something I haven’t seen, please.

Now, I am off to be the most unladylike, trashy, unique, independent, and, most of all, HAPPY bitch you’ve ever seen.

Who am I, anymore?

And I gazed hard at my reflection. Blackened eyes stared back. They were exhausted but ready to pounce. A steady beat of trance sent waves through the room and my heart danced to it. Old make up stained the dry skin under my black eyes but I kept breathing and blinked once, seemingly in slow motion. Eyelashes curled and stuck together. Black. Everything dark except the paleness of my cheeks, the rose of my dried lips. Eyes white with tiny rivers of blood flooding the corners. I am so tired. But I cannot sleep.

Reading through her blog

was strange. I am slightly proud that you had finally found someone so intensely head over heels for you. I am slightly sad that that someone had never been me before. But this time seems different and I know you feel it, too. But I just can’t help but think that I am playing games with you still. Is that possible to do without conscious awareness? I love you and miss you and feel connected with you again. But there exists a guilt within my heart for the way that I had treated you in the past that threatens to burn us from the inside out. Somehow, it just seems unfair for me to take you away from a seemingly perfect relationship with someone who finally fully reciprocated your devotion and try it once more with me, the girl who could never love you with the intensity of how you love me.