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“I wrote a poem about it, and then threw it away, because that’s the last thing I need right now: More words dedicated to people who will never dedicate a single thing to me. ”

Thought Catalog

“It’s okay to say “no” if you change your mind. We allow you to change majors and change direction and change clothes, with no repercussions other than possibly wasted time. If his touch is too forceful and his breath too hot and his weight too much, you are not bound to your previous decision. If your mind is screaming and your nerves are sizzling, they are as valid then and now as they were five minutes ago, when you were saying yes. It’s okay to say “no” if you were flirting. Batted eyelashes and sly smirks and witty words do not form a map to your uncharted territory. Your playfulness does not relieve them of their self control. Your allure does not diminish their responsibility to be respectful. The only path you led them on is that of the unknown, of which the rules of the road still apply. It’s okay to say “no” if you’re unsure. It’s okay to say “no” if you’re embarrassed. It’s okay to say “no” when they tell you it isn’t okay to say “no.””

When It’s Ok To Say “No”
7 Stupid Questions We Need To Stop Asking
1. “Can I use your computer?”

They don’t need you all up in their shit. They don’t need you typing a single letter into the YouTube search bar and getting prompted to go on a journey through all of the “announcing to the parents we’re pregnant/engaged” happy-cry videos that they enjoy watching in their private leisure time. A person’s laptop is their sacred sphere of masturbation and hate-stalking and messages sent to crushes while drunk at two in the morning. It is not for public consumption. Besides, everyone knows you just want to check your Facebook and dick around for a few minutes. There is no need to make someone sweat bullets and reconsider every digital decision they ever made over that nonsense.

2. “How much did you pay for [insert object here]?”

Maybe if you’re really cool with the person and you have a distinct, practical reason for wanting to know the cost of something, it could pass for an acceptable question. And yes, sometimes you can’t help but vomit up the question “How much didthatcost??” when you see something that looks 50 shades of unaffordable. But talking about money is the conversational equivalent of shaking hands after not washing them in the bathroom. There is no reason for you to know about how much that purse cost, even if you really want it or are incredibly suspicious as to how this sweaty plebe managed to get their hands on it. You do the classy thing, wait until you get home and Google the shit out of it.

3. “Still on the job search?”

You will know when that shit is over the second it happens. Trust. The unemployed person will burst through your window covered in rhinestones and throw confetti all over your living room, followed by a banner that says in glittery bubble lettering, “I got a job!!!” Until then, it’s not over.

4. “Don’t you know that [insert junk food here] is bad for you?”

I want to know exactly what part of the human brain motivates people to say this shit. Because let’s be clear, there is not a human alive who goes up to a pretzel stand at the mall while out doing their shopping and orders a jalapeno cheddar twist with nacho cheese dipping sauce and a lemonade slushy and thinks that they are doing their body a favor. We all know that shit is bad, and health is not why we eat it. We eat it because it tastes like dreams and affection and a warm blanket on a cold night and makes us temporarily forget that we have to go wander under the oppressive fluorescent lighting of Pottery Barn for two hours to help a friend do her wedding registry. The only reason you ask someone if they know that it’s bad is because you are a jealous little bridge troll who wishes they could be eating that stuffed-crust pizza, and will accept the paltry substitute of ruining it for the person who actually is.

Haters.

5. “Eww, why do you like [insert band/genre of music here]?”

I LIKE CELINE DION BECAUSE SHE IS AN AMAZING SINGER AND HER GOD-GIVEN TALENT TRANSCENDS YOUR CONDESCENDING JUDGMENT.

6. “Still single?”

Yeah, that’s what you do when you see a bleeding axe wound in the middle of someone’s chest, so gaping and raw that you can occasionally see the overworked muscles of their barely-surviving heart moving with the last bit of energy their struggling body can muster. You grab a handful of emotional sea salt and you rub that shit in until your hands give out from exhaustion.

7. “Why are you so quiet?”

There are only one of two legitimate answers here:

1. “I am generally a fairly introverted person, and I have a hard time being really outgoing in new social situations, so I am trying to just hang back a little bit and observe until I feel a bit more comfortable. And your questioning of my behavior only further confirms my suspicion that my inability to just ‘be cool’ in the way others seem to makes me stick out like a sore thumb and gives me further reason to not even try stepping out of my comfort zone.”

2. “I am in a bad mood for reasons I’d rather not discuss, even though I am trying my best to remain normal and be around other people. The best way of handling this, for me, is to just be a bit more quiet than usual as I take things in and reflect on the things which are troubling me. But now that you’ve taken the opportunity to point out how weird I’m being, I guess that means I’ll have to either go home to be sad in private or force myself to put on a show of being happy when I really just want to cry.”

And both of these make you look like an asshole.

 By CHELSEA FAGAN

“Self-confidence and self-love come from within. You can’t love another person so hard that your perception of them seeps into their subconscious and affects how they view themselves.”

—Anonymous, Let’s Not Sexualize Insecurity

“Everyone tells you that you’ll find someone. They think that this makes you feel better, but it really just reminds you that you have someone to find. That you’re not good enough on your own.”

“Start by thinking less, I tell myself. Do more. Love more, and it will come back to you. So far in life I’ve done the opposite. Like some mysterious sea creature, I’ve loved from afar, then added more and more protective and hostile layers the closer I’ve gotten to the object of my affection. The longer the relationship, the more I’ve seemed to withhold. Why? Because, I think, shedding those layers would mean I would eventually come to know myself. What a terrifying thought.”

—Violet Young, The Urge To Rip Up Love And Start Again

“Sublimate me. Elevate me. Meet me in meatspace. Meet me at the bar. Obfuscate me with alcohol. Burble in my ear. Whisper prelinguistic psychobabble in my lobe like a lullaby. Titillate me. Bewitch me. Tickle my funny bone. Run your thumb down the inside of my elbow. Squeeze my bicep. Hard, right? Yeah, I’ve been working out. Kiss my lisp. Kiss my ellipsis. Take me home. Charm my pants off. Rock my socks off. Verb all my clothes off. Scratch my back. Suck my tongue. Torture me with tenderness. Murder me with sympathy. Tuck me in and watch me dream about you. Wake me up. Order me around. Speak to me only in imperatives. Sell me yourself. Wow, that’s quite a sales pitch. Gurl, you are so cybersexy. I fit your target demographic, and I like your personal brand. You can market to me anytime. Fold me up and put me in your pocket. Dissolve me in data. Entertain me with mild stimuli. Text me. Sext me. Touch my touchscreen. Watch me twist into focus. I’m an antisocial butterfly. Socially mediate me. Trap me in your silky web. You like the internet? I like the internet too, let’s be best friends. Decimate my meatscape. Drown me in your honeyed voice. Drown me in a tub full of candy. Pour some high fructose corn syrup on me. Smother me with your heavenly body weight. Crush me under the unbearable lightness of your being. Unfurl me like your favorite archaic scroll. Crack me open like a fortune cookie and read my insides. Vivisect me. Eviscerate me. Cut me up into thin slices and eat me like a mango. Gnaw on me in a raw reverie. I’m just kidding. This is all just poetic hyperbole. Please don’t eat me. Walk across my cobblestone heart in your cruel stilettos. Trip me up so I fall and cut open my palms on the concrete. Make me swoon. Make me giddy. Make me vulnerable. Peel away my armadillo armor. Fill up my headspace with hope. Let me let my guard down. Send me mixed messages. Confuse me. Be my muse. Amuse me. Ask me questions. Tell me stories. Laugh at everything I say. Mention your fear of commitment. Start pulling away. Suggest let’s just be friends then never see each other again. Ignore this. This isn’t for you anyway. It’s for someone else, I swear. Forget me. Wipe me from your memory. Uninstall me from your brain. I wish I could do the same. But I don’t want eternal sunshine. I washed my clothes and sheets and the skyline but I can’t get your scent out. Everything beautiful reminds me of you. You’re undeletable.”

—Ethan Ryan, “Kill Me With Kindness”

“I wrote a poem about it, and then threw it away, because that’s the last thing I need right now: More words dedicated to people who will never dedicate a single thing to me.”

Thought Catalog (Charlotte Green)

“You tell yourself he loves you. You shouldn’t have to. You tell yourself you are the most important thing in his life. He should be telling you this himself. Now and then, now and then.”

—Keay Nigel, Why You Stick With Someone Not Good Enough

“When am I going to fall in love with someone who is able to fall in love with me? ”

The One Person You’re Not Supposed to Fall In Love With (January Nelson)

“We are not taught that we matter as a person; we are taught that we are but a number, a GPA. As that number changes with the addition of grade after grade, we associate that fluctuation with how successful we are and our character. My character is not defined as an A, B, C, D, or even an F. What happened to the days when we learned about the character traits in elementary school? Each month belonged to a different character trait to learn about and that taught kids how to be good, wholesome people. Then we tore down the mindset we had built up since birth and replaced those character traits with letters and numbers which became measures of definition. College is a scam because it is an institution that was created to continue this mindset and prepare students for the real world. Well, news flash: the world doesn’t work this way. Rather the world is more connected to the character traits we learned in elementary school. I can guarantee that perseverance, integrity, and responsibility will get you much further in life than a handful of As will. College has been a good experience for me so far because I have grown as a person and am learning a lot about myself. I’m not saying that no one should go to college. What I am saying is that college should not be seen as just the next step after high school. College is meant to serve a purpose in continuing education and it no longer does that effectively because people do not go for this reason anymore. People in today’s society go to college, take classes in subjects we’ll never need and pay tuition for a piece of paper that, many times, is virtually meaningless. What do I want to be when I grow up? I have no idea. But here’s to figuring it out, and I’m sure as hell not going to figure it out in Calculus. So I’ll take that F and I’ll raise you some courage and respect.”

Why College Is A Scam for Thought Catalog

“We can’t jump off bridges anymore because our iPhones will get ruined. We can’t take skinny dips in the ocean, because there’s no service on the beach and adventures aren’t real unless they’re on Instagram. Technology has doomed the spontaneity of adventure and we’re helping destroy it every time we Google, check-in, and hashtag.”

—“We Can’t Get Lost” by Jeremy Glass, Thought Catalog

“You think you are going to save me. You don’t know what that means. People have sold you this image of a knight, or a prince, or at least a hero in a Purple Label suit, but it is silly. I don’t need that, and even if I wanted it, I am not so shallow as to think that a stranger could provide it for me. I say that I love you, and maybe I do, but it will always pale in comparison to the aching, complex, ultimately rewarding love I have for myself. Over the past 20-something years, I have learned to grow comfortable with myself. There are parts of me I would change, but overall, I think that I’m a good person. I touch myself with care. I forgive myself. So many people who have claimed to love me have not afforded me the same courtesy. It’s not that I’m skeptical, it’s just that I’d rather depend on myself when it comes to affirming that I am a good person. You are nice, but I don’t need your compliments. If you insist on being kind, on loving, on putting your hand where you think it will give me the most pleasure, do it because you want to. Do it because seeing me happy makes you happy, and in a way makes you love yourself even more. Don’t think you are giving me something, because you are not. I am standing in the bathroom, brushing my hair, completely naked. You walk up behind me and tell me that I look good like that, that I should go naked more often, that the light is particularly flattering on my back side. I suddenly feel just slightly less happy about being naked, now that I know it is being shared with someone else. Before, I was having a moment with my body. Now, I am a spectacle for someone else’s enjoyment. You mean well, and I know that. You love me, I can see it. But maybe I love myself too much for someone else to join the relationship. “Self-absorbed.” “Narcissistic.” “Vain.” To that I say, “Defiant.” “Protective.” “Alive.” There is no part of my body that I don’t love touching, that I don’t want to see more of. I can feel this way about other people — yes, even you, though I know you doubt it when I am laughing at a text message and you don’t know who I’m talking to — but it is never as strong. It is never as pure. It never comes from a place of pure care and nurturing. When I love myself, it is licking my wounds and reminding myself that every schoolyard insult or cheating lover was a bump in a road I was never meant to drive with a passenger. You look at me when I’m reading my book in bed and you tell me that I’m cold, that you can feel my distance, that you freeze around me. But I am burning, so hot that I can sometimes barely stand to be within myself, you simply can’t feel it because I radiate inward. I can see you pull your blankets around tighter, and all I can do is sweat against my sheets. You tell me that maybe one day I won’t need to hold myself so tightly, keep all of this love inside, be afraid of every leak and crack in my system. And maybe that’s true, and I will want to share as much as I possibly can with you. But I am not counting on it. I don’t believe it will happen, and it hasn’t yet. I would love to see you prove me wrong, but for now, I’m not waiting on anything. There is too much in me to care for, and I have only just begun to stop the bleeding.”

—Charlotte Green (x)

“...I am going to apologize to everyone that has ever been cheated on. The circumstances are all the same. It always involves three people. Two who don’t care about the consequences and one who doesn’t deserve them.”

I’m The Girl Who Slept With Your Boyfriend
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