Little Insecurities

Dear America,
Fuck.
I'm a pretty wholesome chick, comparatively, m'kay?
Like; all my friends have gone way far with their significant other, from handjobs to actual sex.
All I've done is mackin' out.  I know that's still gross for fourteen year olds, but it's better than most.
Like my boyfriend of four months, he still apologizes if he accidently touches my boob.
Even though it's not always on accident, but it's not like he groping me.
I knew he has gone farther, at least some tit action.  He's a good-lookin' dude, with a colorful girlfriend history.  I'd be surprised if he hasn't.
But, it's been bugging me for a while.  How far as he gone?
So, I asked him, and he told me has had a handjob.
So, what does your cool-headed, calm Fireplay do in this?
She fuckin' laughs.
This laughter was not because it was funny, but because I didn't know how to react.
Knowing another girl has done that, been all over him like that... Well, I couldn't handle it.
He told me not to worry, it was his girlfriend back in April, the one he dumped after she went to Vegas with her family, and slept with some random dude.
And, not to worry, because he was just using her.
I was dumbstruck.  Of course, I acted like it was no big deal, but I didn't know what to think.
What if he is just using me?
Of course, after he said that, he assured me he wasn't.  I believe him, but by his actions, not his words.  He always puts me first, treats me with equally and with respect, as I do him.

Even with all this reassurance, the moment I came home, my family was out, I blasted My Chemical Romance, as I crumpled to the floor, crying.
Because, another girl has been that close to him.
Because, that haunting fear that he doesn't love me.

Goddamnit, America.

America, why don't you read my whiny blog, and comment on it to make me feel better about myself?
I know my blunt, cliche teenage life isn't that interesting, but hey, throw me bone.

So what if I love him?

It's stupid.
I'm fourteen, and I'm in love.
Is that even possible?
He makes it all feel right.  Not in the sexual way you're thinking, you pervert.
He's become my life.
At first, I couldn't understand how he could love me.  I didn't believe him when he said it.
But, now, I'm just as deep in this shitty emotion called love.
I know it sounds crazy, and when I heard couples our age saying "I love you", I remember thinking how complete idiotic they must be.  I mean, we're fourteen.
That they have delusioned themselves into thinking it's love, but it's really just the thrill of it all.
Am I in love with the thrill of being in love, or actually in love with him?

Best Friend Betrayal?

I hate how she doesn't miss me.
I hate how even though we were best friends for nine years, she can just get up and leave easily.
I hate it how I meant nothing to her.
She was the rock in my life.
She was the constant.
Then, we she decides that I'm not cool enough for her, she ditches me.
I hate it how I have to see her smug bossy face everyday.
I hate it how I actually miss her.
Even after all her betrayals.
I hate it how she's thinks she's more popular than me,
when I really am.
I hate it how I let her rule my life when I was BFFs with her.
I hate it how I hardly stood up to her.
I hate it how after every betrayal, I took her back.
I hate it how she still controls my life in a way,
I hate how I think about her everyday.
I hate how I'm crying now because of her.
I hate how I hate her, and how it doesn't make a difference.

Quote of the Year.

"You know, somewhere deep under all that sarcasm is sweetness.  Actually, you're the sweetest girl I know... Even though you can be a real bitch.  But, that bitchiness is used for good, know what I'm sayin'?" said my probably Best Friend at this point.

I am honestly shocked by this.

But, it made me happy...

Even if won't admit it.

Numbing effects.

Yeah, so I always feel numb.
Not my body, but like my emotions...
Like my Grandmother died.  I did nothing but nod and go about my day.
And, when my dad's friend died at my house, and I think I was the last to see him alive... Nothing.
I don't feel the dread I should be feeling.
What's wrong with me?

Second note.

Second post, within minutes of the first post. Exciting, eh?
Anyways, I forgot to mention that I'd be making constant posts/reviews of books I read occasionally.
It'll be great. Ish.

So, I've conformed to making a blog.

As you can read from the title above, I've conformed to making a blog.
Mainly cause typing hurts less than writing several pages in my diary.
So, you wanna hear about my averagely shitty life?
Well, too fuckin bad, you're going to stay seated, and read this sad excuse for a blog.
Because, I need total strangers from "Da Interwebzz" to comment on my life and boost my ego, because some shit about today's girl's self images, and blah blah blah.
I blame society.