sometimes i still cry

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Jongin for Esquire Korea 2017 Feb issue

Goya was my dog.

She was a 10 year old corgi/golden retriever mix that I brought with me from Spain. I know a lot of people have their special pets and their “heart animals”; and she was mine. Truly, she was my heart, and my life. We were inseparable. To this day I can’t talk about her without getting emotional, and miss her with every bit of my still broken heart.

Goya rapidly developed a cancerous growth (mast cell tumor) on her right side that we had scheduled surgery to remove. She had gone through a previous surgical procedure to remove two burst cysts and came from that healthy and fine - she was eating and playing that very night! So I figured that even at her age she was strong enough to go through one last surgery.

I began to take pictures of her to make a chronicle of her weeks before surgery, in order to keep spirits up and invite people to meet her a little better. She has a tag all of her own that is still difficult for me to visit.

Goya went into shock after surgery. The mast cells had begun to degranulate. We took her to the ER, but she didn’t make it. I lost a very big piece of my heart that night.

Seeing Goya in-game is a way for me to have a bit of her around that I can visit and interact with, and can’t thank the people that made it happen enough because it may have been such a small thing but for me it means what Goya was to me - the world.

I Miss You
Aaliyah
I Miss You

Aaliyah - I Miss You

“I Have trouble accepting the fact that you’re gone, so I won’t. 
It’ll be like we went for a while without seeing each other.
But I can understand why God would have wanted you close to him,
because you truly were an angel on earth.

I love you. I miss you.“
-DMX

Is your heart still mine?
I wanna cry sometimes…

sometimes i feel so fucking alone inside of my own head.
its the repeated whispers of my thoughts that echo through out my resolve.
like a movie, every demon in my life, is here.
pause. play. stop. rewind.
sometimes i don’t want to be inside of my own skin anymore.
i need to take back control
and i need to be in charge.
i’m tired of facing a cliche fucking world that’s full of color.
why have i only ever been able to see in black and white?
i am so fucking tired of feeling numb.
and no matter how many bruises end up on my knuckles,
or cuts that bleed from my wrists,
i still feel nothing.
i, am fucking nothing.
—  sometimes, a cry for help is silent.

i don’t know how to erase hurt. sometimes i still cry about him when i didn’t cry at his funeral. nobody really cares how you cope with things as long as you cope quickly, a silent rehashing of your life in the sudden void. stuff goes missing in the wake of it. like something has to fill up all that sucking emptiness. the pit of no end. you throw in your emotions or food or showers or everything. and people ask you why you don’t just get over it. there’s always somebody better at getting over it, and sometimes it’s you. sometimes you’re at work the next day even though no one expected that from you; only to miss a solid week seven months in the future. how do you explain that. sorry i just kind of put it in a box and the box finally leaked. sorry it just got out on me. i know it’s silly. i know it’s silly.

I love you, see you tomorrow.

My partner at the time was getting drunk. He was taking a long time to respond and I was worried. I started to head toward his house, but he finally texted me back apologizing, telling me he was alright. We talked for about an hour, his responses getting more and more difficult to understand. Through his drunken stupor, we made plans to see each other the next day. We had been dating for three months, but we connected on such a level that it felt like we had known each other forever. I was going to go to sleep soon, so I said, “I love you and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Fifteen minutes later, his message came. “I love you too. Goodnight, sweetheart.” The next day, I got a phone call at my house. Shortly after I had gone to bed, he had shot himself. Two years later and I still cry at night sometimes. I’ve dated a bit since then, but nothing serious. I’m very close with his family and we’ve all gained some sort of closure about his death. I sometimes wish that he could still be alive, but I know it’s a false hope. I miss him a lot.

Maybe I do still think about you a hundred times a day. Maybe I do still think of you when I do certain things, like wear my hair that way you loved or listen to a song you showed me. Maybe I do still cry sometimes, pieces of my heart rolling down my cheeks as fast as rivers. Maybe I do still feel that last kiss on my lips some days. Maybe I do still say your name a little sweeter than his. Maybe I am still struggling to let go. But at the end of even my very worst days, days when I saw memories of you everywhere I went, only heard your name in every story someone told, I’m still a little less broken than when you left me. I can breathe. I can laugh. I can get out of bed, put on my makeup, and make it through the day without crying all of it off. I can feel the cracks you left healing, feel my mind pushing you out a little more every day. I know I will wake up one day, maybe in a month, maybe in 10 years, but one day I will wake up next to someone who loves me just as much as I love them. Someone who will recognize that when I love, I love with everything in me. I don’t believe in holding back. I will give him everything, and he’ll love the good, and he’ll love that I’m honest about the bad. He’ll spend his whole life loving that I talk so much, and that my laugh echoes off the walls. He’ll spend his whole life loving that I’m clingy because he knows that texting him every 20 minutes when we’re apart is my way of saying that he’s the most important person in my phone. He’ll spend his whole life loving my big eyes and watching the colors change. He’ll spend his whole life loving my arms around him, and my late night “I love you"s, and my random bursts of goofy that he’ll never understand but he’ll love that it keeps him on his toes. He’ll spend his whole life loving all the things you did, but he’ll love them enough to know that someone like me can’t be replaced, and he’ll know better than to let me feel unloved. He’ll spend his whole life loving all of me. And on that day that I wake up next to him, I won’t remember the boy who took my love for granted when I was 17. But trust me, you’ll remember me. A small piece of you will always remember me.
—  I’m irreplaceable, you’re a dime a dozen

I pray that you don’t realise what a huge mistake you’ve made and come back to me because you’re not good for me, you’re toxic and I know that. Well, my brain does at least, my heart is still trying to accept it.

I know if I let you in again you would ruin me, just like you did last time and I honestly don’t know if I could go through all the pain and hurt you caused me again and end up okay because it’s been months and I’m still recovering from what you done to me and I still cry about you sometimes but day by day I’m getting stronger, it’s taken me a long time to accept that you didn’t really love me, you just didn’t want to be alone so please don’t try to come back into my life when we both know that you’ll just leave again when someone better comes along.

—  I’m terrified because if you knocked on my door I know I wouldn’t have the strength to turn you away.

anonymous asked:

When I was younger I used to cry (I still do sometimes now) when my parents or doctors tried to talk about my body changing. Do you think that that is a sign of being transgender?

Kii says:

Maybe? Many trans people get dysphoria about puberty, but many cis people have probably also experienced being made uncomfortable by puberty because it’s a new and different thing. Only you can know if you’re trans or not, and you don’t have to pinpoint any “signs”.

i want to go back in time and hug my 13-year-old self and tell her that it’s okay to like girls.

I do not have a résumé that is worth being read by any potential employer. The neighbor girls ask to know where my dead dog is buried in the backyard. They want to dig her up and see her again. My brother’s girlfriend makes a Facebook post about how sweet he was to clean her house for her. I stare at the pubic hair littering the toilet that we share and think about telling her how he fucked our 50 year old neighbor in the back of a car three weeks ago. I refrain. Probably best to keep that one in my pocket for another day. I think about abuse. I think about abuse that doesn’t leave any marks. I think about raising a child that isn’t mine. I think about the day I left college and sometimes I still cry. It’s been 3 years. I wonder what my thesis project would have been. I am a mother but I’ve never given birth. I do not relate to any of my friends. I hope that they leave me alone. I am tired of trying. I built a kickass Lego house for my nephew today but I do not have a résumé that is worth being read by any potential employer.

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[1/?] heartbreaking moments: tiny tina mourning roland (borderlands 2)
↳ “You know what? It’s okay. He doesn’t have to go. Not if you don’t want him to. Yeah…keep going!”