Sincerely, Sara

A collection of my ranting and ravings. Please don't take anything personally; it's not meant as a personal attack to anyone. In the moments, I needed to tell these people things that I couldn't so I wrote them down. Each situation has been dealt with, but I would like to publish what I wrote, because the words tend to flow nicer when I am passionate about it.
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WARNING: These stories contain mature content and discussion of such; examples including rape, sexual assault and abuse. Please don't feel like you have to read it, because you don't have to if you don't want to.

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5. To "Don't Touch the Toner":

I try to be supremely careful with the things I say and how I say them around you, as I don't want you to get the wrong impression. Or for you to think that what I experience is actually true. When I say that you have helped me, I don't mean it to be nice; I genuinely mean that and I try to get that point across every single time I see you, which now I think might be a little exhausting to hear over and over and over and over again. I am truly afraid of what you think of me, and I am always on the fence of whether I want to know, or I'd rather be oblivious. Obliviousness obviously has its reasons that are unique to its own entity, but knowing is much worse. Knowing that you don't share the same feelings with someone is heartbreaking and I don't want to be hurt by someone that I treasure.

 

You have made me laugh, to the point of forgetting what I was even afraid or upset about. Somehow you always manage to leave me with a smile, and from what I've noticed; I hopefully do the same for you. Every time you tell me that you actually like me, you don't tolerate me for the sake of toleration like some of the other people with us, or every time you tell me that I am your friend: my heart blossoms like a flower in the spring and to forget that feeling is supremely hard to do. I have tried to thank you for doing everything that you have done for me, but I can never find the words to tell you how your presence is the best thing I've felt in a while. It's almost intoxicating.

 

Almost.

 

You yourself are intoxicating. Everything. From your eyes that are as blue as the sky in a Renaissance Painting, to your hair that even in its finest detail is as brown as my roommate's Eiffel Tower statuette. I know you, not by the way you look, but by the way your heart and your brain work together to form your existence. And it's beautiful. I still remember what your face looked like when you had told me that my favourite band was there to perform a couple years before I came, in your first year. A smile had tugged at your lips for only a fraction of a second before taking over your entire face, and a laugh had escaped that smile. I was ecstatic and kind of pissed that I had missed the performance, but you seemed to be thoroughly enjoying my reaction.

 

I've been stuck for a while, and you know that. I can't get the thoughts out of my head that tell me I'm not good enough, I'm not worth it, I should just give up. You've tried to help me. You tell me you know what it feels like. And I believe you. Sometimes even you aren't enough to get me smiling like I used to. I wish I could give you a hug and tell you that it's not your fault for the way I am, it just happens because anxiety sucks balls. Lately, my head has been stuck in a lot of worse case scenarios, that now that I think back to them seem petty and ridiculously simple to solve. You don't like me? Well, he doesn't have to be bothered by you after you leave. You don't care? That's stupid, you wouldn't tolerate me if you didn't care, at least even in the slightest. 

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