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The problem with being a savage-hearted bitch who was also a recovering people-pleaser was that I still had the "pleasure to have in class" good girl wandering around inside my head. On days like today when she couldn't decide whether to sit in the corner and panic or drown me in a highlight reel of my all-time worst moments until I was forced to admit I was a giant fucking fuckup, it was tough to find the truth.
I was a perfectionist good girl with the heart of a raging bitch. Messy was the only way to rock this bun.
Everyone loved the kid who was so damn mature for her age. They never saw it as the outward manifestation of inner stress. They never stopped to ask how that kid got to be so mature. They never asked why she couldn't just be a kid.
I wasn't depressed. Not anxious. I just lived with a simmering cauldron of rage and contempt for the assholes and idiots of the world, and that took up a lot of my time.
Good little girls who grew up into people-pleasing women didn't get that way through any innate altruism or feminine urge to keep the peace. We got there because we learned, at some point, that our needs were a problem best kept to ourselves. We were most worthy when our existence didn't bother anyone.
A family is a bunch of people who love and care for each other unconditionally, people who show up for each other unconditionally. It doesn't have to be legal. Doesn't have to be blood. But it does have to be unconditional.
I don't need the words. I already know what I need to know. I just need you to choose me."
Want me, please, though you won't and you absolutely don't so leave me alone at once.
"Make choices that scare you. They're the best ones."
"You are made of stars. They're inside you, and even on your worst day, they don't stop shining for you. Don't ever forget that."
I wanted to show her off tonight. Stand in front of all of our friends, loop my arm around her waist, say, "Do you see? This one's mine." At the same time, I wanted to barricade us behind locked doors and under cozy blankets, press her hand to my chest, and say, "Do you see? This one's yours."
