Random Channel Surfing

J'suis plus que pathétique. Demain, la célébrité que j'aime le plus au monde va être à Montréal. C'est à dire que deux des personnes plus beaux au monde (selon moi) vont être à la même ville. Merde.

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Have you ever felt so discouraged you don't know what to do anymore? Like, you could be weepy and depressed, but there's a part of you that knows you literally have no right, so you spend all of your spare time wallowing in self-pity so that no one in your life knows the extent of your issues? That's me. Right now. And it's so stupid because no one should measure their self-worth by others' opinions. Let alone the success of others. //embarrassed.

Yes, I'm bitter. Yes, I'm angry with myself. Yes, I'm fucking angry at you. I try to forget about you and your fucking perfect perfection, but every time I log onto facebook (something I rarely do), the reminder of your flawlessness is ever present. So. Congratulations because every single other guy I ever meet will probably never measure up to you. You with your sweet words. You with your scary intellect that intimidated me sometimes. You with your 6'2" stature that made looking at you feel like looking up at someone on a pedestal. You who spent his evenings at home. But only when I did, too. Why can't I ignore all of this? I'm prone to forgetting--more like living in denial,really--so why can't I forget you? Why was admitting that I had fallen for you so much easier than voicing my fears? Why couldn't I deny you ? I hope I never fall in love again.

Feeling insecure about my appearance and things like that is totally okay. Well, it's not okay. I mean, I don't relish feeling insecure, but it's a fact of life. We're not going to love the way we look 24/7, nor are we going to be happy with what we're given. Would I like smaller boobs? Hell yes. Would I rather be 5'5" than 5'? Definitely. But can I change those things? Nope. (Unless I got a breast reduction and/or wore heels every day. No, thanks.) And to be honest, I don't really want to. I am what I am. And, in the event that I meet an incredible man someday who'll love my huge boobs and tiny stature, I know acceptance starts with me (cheesy, yes, but very true). But when I start doubting my dreams? I don't think my heart can cope. Again, I'm scared. Scared I won't fulfill those dreams, scared that I'll miss my chance, scared I'll never do what I want to do. Just scared. And I know that it's irrational. I mean, it...

She didn't think heartbreak would feel numbing. She'd always assumed it would feel like she couldn't breathe. Or a heart attack, at least.