Was

Europe a lie? My birthday? Father's Day? My mom's birthday? Christopher's birthday? Our trip to Coronado? Our trip up North? Our dinners? Our pictures?

I'm jealous of everyone who has what I thought we had. I am so angry. So angry. I can't see straight. I don't know how I'm going to learn to live.

I pray. I pray. I pray. I hope you mean what you say. Give it a good fight. For yourselves. For us. For life.

Once more with the feeling.

The pain has only gotten worse. I thought that it would maybe subside some, but no. It is now running from stomach down to my feet, and into my toes. It is in my arms, numbing my fingers. I can't express enough how much I'd rather be
DEAD.

Dear Someone Else,

I wish I could run to you and tell you all that is going on. I miss the comfort of your listening. You would say you didn't know what to say and wished you were as good as I was at "those things", but you were good. You listened and managed to make me feel ok. No, things weren't ok, but you did just as I wanted and gave compassion.

I don't know why I wish I could tell you, and feel like I need to tell you. I don't want you to think you are right, but maybe you are right. You were right about other people... And I hated that you were right, and am not quite sure why I told you you were the other night.

Anyway, I guess you were the one I ran to during the last family tragedies... You know, like when my sister first told us she was pregnant and my parents were enraged. I told you, because I didn't know who else to tell, and you were who I wanted to vent to. And when my heart was buried along with my dog, you were who I went to, and the only person who provided me comfort, and you made me laugh through my tears. You told me you wanted to make it better, and I knew you couldn't, but the fact that you hurt for me was what I needed. The compassion. And the, "If you want, I'll dress up as a bear and do a song and dance..."

I just want you to sit, and listen. I've said some crazy things, yet you still don't think I am crazy. Or maybe you do. But even if you do think I am, you don't act like it. I guess you're the person I've said some of the craziest things to that I have a comfort with you still like I don't have with anyone else. And in that comfort, I feel like you could make me feel better right now.

I miss that friendship sometimes. I hadn't in a long, long time, but as my heartbreaks, I'm thinking of better times. Or maybe just other times when things made more sense. More simple. Maybe.

You used to tell me everything, and it was nice having that. And I'd always tell you you were going to be ok, and give you the reasons why it would. I guess I just need you to listen and maybe say, "It's going to be ok."

With Love,
Lauren.

Dear ???,

You've given me everything my heart has desired while managing to give me absolutely nothing.

Yours Truly,
Lauren

Honestly

I'd rather be

dead
   [ded]
adjective, -er, -est, noun, adverb
–adjective
1. no longer living; deprived of life: dead people; dead flowers; dead animals.


I don't think I have ever felt heartbreak until now. I swore up and down I knew what it felt like to have my heart broken into millions of pieces, but this...

Nothing compares to this.

Nothing compares to this ache, this brokeness, this emptiness, this bed of lies.

My foundation isn't so solid anymore. My home isn't home. I'm done for. My hopes for life are out the window. My past means nothing. My life feels over.

I thought I knew death, but this is death. Right here. Our past. Our memories. Our travel. Our safety. Our bond.

We are dead.

Easily

the worst night of my life.

I feel sick to my stomach with emotional pain, caused by the person I respect most in the world.

I feel like someone is strangling me, pushing on my chest, and stabbing me over and over again in my heart.

I am filled with fear, but not even for myself...for the person who loves me most in the world.

When did life end?

Emancipation

You control me, I'm your machine
You expose me, It's so obscene
But when you touch me with your alien embrace
You know it makes me deny the human race

I'm your slave, I am your slave
I am your slave, 'cause I am your slave
Until you throw me away

Control me (I'm your slave)
You control me (I am your slave)
Control me (I'm your slave)
You control me (I am your slave)
----------------
Am I?

mas⋅och⋅ism
   [mas-uh-kiz-uhm, maz-] Show IPA Pronunciation
–noun
1. Psychiatry. the condition in which sexual gratification depends on suffering, physical pain, and humiliation.
2. gratification gained from pain, deprivation, degradation, etc., inflicted or imposed on oneself, either as a result of one's own actions or the actions of others, esp. the tendency to seek this form of gratification.
3. the act of turning one's destructive tendencies inward or upon oneself.
4. the tendency to find pleasure in self-denial, submissiveness, etc.

That is

now 3,001 people I need to let go of.

Ok, maybe two. I didn't see you needing to leave either.

How sad.

La Douleur Exquise: Pt. 2

So much for the untied me. And so much for feeling liberated. And how unexquisite do I feel?

.

Dear Andy Lara,

I miss you.

Sincerely,
Lauren Morales

Most of the time

I don't think I'm using my brain enough. I don't know what I am good at, or know if I'll be good at anything. I feel so dull and like a waste of life sometimes. Why?

La Douleur Exquise

"That's when I first realized it. I was in an S&M relationship with Mr. Big.
In love relationships, there is a fine line between pleasure and pain.
In fact it's a commom belife that a relationship with out pain is a relationship not worth having.
To some, pain implies growth.
But how do we know when the growing pains stop and the "Pain-pains" take over?
Are we masochists or optimists? If we continue to walk that fine line?
When it comes to relationships, how do you know when enough is enough?! "

"On the way home I was furious. Not with Big, with myself.
I was the real sadist. He might be the one with the whip, but I was the one who tied myself up.
Tied myself to a man who was terrified of being tired down."


"Did I ever really love Big or was I addicted to the pain? The Exquisite pain of wanting someone so unattainable."

Mr. Big: " Hey, what you doing over there?"
Carrie: " Go to Paris. I'm not gonna come. Lets not pretend we're something we're not. It's ok. "
Mr. Big: "Come to bed"

"I wanted to go to him, but I felt like I was tied to the chair.
Some part of me was holding me back, knowing I had gone too far. Reached my limit.
And just like that, I had untied myself from Mr. Big.
I was Free. But there was nothing exquisite about it. "

Easily one of the most liberating episodes of Sex and the City.

I give my life to you

so I can gain it back again.

Why...

do I always do this to myself? I never learn. It's always the same thing the next day.

Ughhhhh.

I wish

I'd never listened to In Rainbows. I wish I never listened to it on that ride home from AB's. I wish I never listened to it in the cold. I wish I never listened to it on the way to Roxy's. I wish I never, ever heard it. It reminds me of too much. I hate it. It's so good, but it hurts too much. I don't think anything can echo in my hollow chest more than Reckoner.