Too intrigued by this book. Literally all I could think about at work was getting off to finish my novel. 
Things to talk about once I’m done with the book:
– love, is it real? Or an illusion?
– looking into someone’s eyes 
– insecurities 
– Martell and never having a birthday party 
– darkness and therapy notes
– isolating myself from certain people
– the girl on the train. 
– broken vagina or nah? Do I have a clit or nah?
3/10/15 3:00AM
Holy fuck shit, I just finished the girl on the train in less than five hours. The novel was completely amazing. It was riveting, so descriptive and thrilling. It pulled you in so deep that you couldn’t put it down, you had to make it to the end, you had to solve the mystery. So unpredictable and I fucking love it so so so much. Fuck!
Ok, so on to the topic of love as I make my way down my list. Is love even real? I feel like everyone craves love, but what is it really? Every individual has their own interpretation of love. You can think you love someone, then meet someone else and realize you never really loved the person you were with before. I know feelings change and humans constantly evolve, but shit… Love might just be an illusion we all chase after to make our life feel worthy. Just like we chase after success, wealth, etc. I know when I look at my niece and nephew, something overcomes me and I will risk my life for them. I would give up all I have for them. Some would say that’s love and at one point I believed it to be, then I thought what the fuck is love?! I cherish Tre and Liyah. I adore them. I crave the feeling of holding them in my arms, smothering them with my hugs. I thought I could love The jerk, but turns out I can’t even see how I liked him. I don’t know what brought us together because we don’t connect at all. He was so focused on how “perfect” I was. He saw me as a beautiful, mix girl who was pure. I was untouched, awkward, sexually uneducated and so different from what he was used to. I think that’s what he liked. Me, I liked the attention and having someone always being there. Me and my codependent ass. Smh.
Eyes. I love eyes. When I draw portraits, the best part is always the eyes I draw. I would doodle eyes On every sheet of paper I touched. I don’t care if it was notes, homework, or the pages of a textbook. They always looked different, even if you tried to make them the same. Eyes are beautiful. They are the portal to a persons soul. For that reason, I cannot look into people’s eyes. I don’t like it. It makes me uncomfortable. I feel insecure. I feel like they see all the things I try to hide. I know eye contact during conversation is important, but I find it so hard to do. When someone looks into my eyes what do they see? My confusion? My insecurity? My fear? My pain? My exhaustion? Do they see me for who I really am? I don’t even know who I really am…
I keep trying to work on my insecurities, but maybe I should just let it happen as I grow instead of focusing so much on it. Maybe I should accept myself instead of looking in the mirror every single day and seeing every single flaw. I view my body as a giant flaw, covered with more flaws. I’m a blob of fat, with a back that has waves of fat. I have OCD that causes me to pick my skin. I’m covered in so many scabs, it looks like I have freckles all over from far away. I pick at my face, my arms, my stomach, my legs, my breast, like WTF. I wake up and I see scabs and I’m like when did I even do that? I apparently picked at my back and I’m just like how the fuck did I reach? Another flaw, my feet. Charles says I have hobbit feet because they’re wide af. Another flaw? My vagina. I’m so convinced I don’t have a clit. That’s something I’ll address later though. My emotions are a flaw. I’m so weak. I break down too easily. I used to be stronger, but now…. I’m just pathetic. I’m way too trusting. I’m way too open. I’m way too hard on myself, obviously. My gosh… I’m a fucking mess. 
So I still think about M saying he never had a birthday party or a birthday cake made from scratch at home. Omg. I must make him a cake. I fucking love baking. But I don’t like eating what I bake. I want to bake for others, not myself. If I actually had more than two friends, I would throw him a birthday party. Lol. The life of a loser probs. I mean we could have a party of two, but my voice isn’t that great so being the only one singing happy birthday might be a little traumatic for him, so I will save him from the horror and just avoid it.
I used to be able to walk the dogs at night and feel safe. I could walk to my mailbox without looking over my shoulder. Now? I’m always terrified. I’m scared to walk to my car even when it’s five feet from the door. I’m afraid when I walk to my car after work. I’m always afraid and I don’t like it. I want to feel as though I’m in control. I hate feeling powerless. Facing death numerous times makes me feel powerless, mostly when my life is in someone else’s hands. I don’t like that. I don’t want anyone to take my life from me for no reason. I’m not done living. I have a lot to do. I have a lot of families to help. I have a lot of crimes to solve and victims to find justice for. Since I was seven, I told myself I would prevent a family from going their entire life without knowing what happened to their loved one. I’m meant to do that, I need to do that. I can’t leave this earth without doing that. 
Tired, emotional, and going to sleep.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s