It’s interesting to think about why we were so willing destroy our bodies at seventeen. Being a teenager was all about “Yes. Give me that! Why not? I might projectile vomit? Cool! I haven’t done that since I was five!” Being in your twenties, however is all about being neurotic. “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe. I have a gluten allergy so I can’t drink that beer.”
If I were a teenager or young adult back then, I would’ve been like, “Oh, TLC? Yeah, they totally invented the condom eye patch. Rad girls.” But I was a kid, so I was more like, “WTF? What’s that neon green thing covering that one’s eye and where do I get one? What’s a condom?!”
Get accepted into a “competitive” fellowship or internship or entry level lobbying position, whatever. Think this is it: it’s only a matter of time before you are saving the world (or securing a “real” job). Look on Craigslist for an apartment…see the price of a one bedroom condo by the Capitol is $2700.00. Silently squeal to yourself.
Heightening the aforementioned emotional experiences is the ominous unanswered text message. Perhaps you’re just reaching out as a gesture of thoughtfulness, or perhaps it’s a deeper expression of longing, but whatever it is, if it goes unanswered, it can be, and usually is, quite hurtful.
Someone has power over you. They have the ability to make you sublimely happy and they can also make you feel super depressed. You lose slight control over your moods. When you enter a relationship, it’s as if you sign a contract that says, “I give you 70% of my feelings. I acknowledge that you can play with them, make them feel good, and I also acknowledge that you can fucking destroy them.”
I’ve thought a lot about whether or not to have sex on the first date, and a lot of people have told me that I ought to take things a little slower. I’ve given that advice careful consideration, and with that careful consideration, I’ve decided that it’s not advice I want to follow. If sex presents itself on a first date and it seems appealing, the reasons to go for it are plentiful, and the reasons not to, insignificant.
Being either a gay man or a girl means there is a good chance you’re hungry right now. If you add “works in fashion”, you’re just straight up starving all the time. And the most disturbing aspect of it all? It’s acceptable, it’s encouraged, it’s a damn joke.
On the most basic level, movies simply ask for a type of attentiveness that is hard to muster if you’re depressed. Cerebral films tend to have a lot of silences and moments where the spectator is encouraged to reflect on the images. That’s fine, but when you’re depressed, the only reflecting you’ll be doing is on various sad thoughts and anxieties floating around in your head.
Facebook has no influence on the relationships that actually matter to me. It’s the people on the periphery who get to stick around past their expiration date. If I deleted it, those are the kinds of people who would become casualties.
Hot people are overrated. Even they will admit it and say, “Yeah. I’m not that great but my face is awesome. Wanna look at it a little bit more?” Ugly guys, however, know what they’re working with. They know they have a face and/or body only a mother could love so they make the best of it by being great sexual partners.
Comprised mostly of minimal instrumental tracks by music ventures from The Cure to Squarepusher, the feeling of the album is that of subtle sadness, hope, and overarching, nostalgic beauty. The mood set by this part of the soundtrack is so heavy and light at the same time that you could easily spend an entire day listening to it on repeat, looking out the window at the sun shining down.
Screw you, HBC, for making me feel that way. Screw you for making me irrational, hairless, enraged and depressed. Screw you for making me bleed like a stuck pig and curl into a fetal position from such exquisite pain. Screw you for messing with my beautiful skin.
Indeed, the two people in the Relationship for Show find each other almost by some self-organizing principal of reality, nature, society or culture; friends of the two are likely to affirm upon hearing of their newfound relationship, “oh, that makes sense,” or “heh, not surprised at all.”
They could never love you as much as you loved them. Maybe they could for awhile but it didn’t last. You started to notice it while lying in bed together. Their body seemed far away even though it was right next to you and you knew that it was over.
Indeed, events such as these are simply happenstance, and for this, the Stressed Out Girlfriend induces a sort of torture on her partner in which her partner must either become upset with her for becoming upset with reality (this is not advised), or humor her and attempt to calmly mitigate the situation.
The end of a friendship is all about you. It’s nothing but you. It’s almost like a personal attack on your character. Someone who once thought of you as a beautiful soul now sees some ugly in you. They wanted to talk to you everyday and now they’re willfully distancing themselves.
While outward displays of masculinity, affability, confidence and power may be a regular part of the Insecure Boyfriend’s behavioral repertoire, the Insecure Boyfriend in fact has low self-confidence and extremely low self-esteem, both of which aggregate to produce a constant, needy second-guessing of his girlfriend’s love and loyalty to him and the belief that if she cheats on him he will have “deserved it” or it will have “made sense.”
I am unsure of how to begin this letter. Most of our conversations are never words, rather actions: a smile between note-taking; looking at each other over cups, your coffee clutched in jittery hands and my earl grey whispering steam; a tug at the corner of your shirt to pull you back from the oncoming traffic while jaywalking.