Shine He always said his favorite thing about me was the way my eyes lit up when I talked to him. My favorite thing about him was that he was just as broken as I was. He came from a similar family structure as i and had some of the same #life experiences. We were bother reserved because of all we had gone through. But we took turns taking bricks down from each other's walls We met on July 23rd. I considered killing myself on the 24th He finished talking me out of it on the 25th I fell in love with him on the 26th Not to be a cliche but I am not one to trust. I thought he cared he took my walls down, brick by brick, insecurity by insecurity, #depression by #depression, self harm by self harm, abuse by abuse. I let him know it all. I poured my heart out while looking him directly into the eyes because I was not scared of him leaving because he was just as broken as I and I thought he needed me just as bad as I needed him. We were a long distance thing. We hung out for the first time on August first. We hung out twice in between then and August 28th. He told me he loved me on the twenty eighth. That was the best day of my #life. He was my everything. I was convinced nothing could tear us apart. That we'd be together forever. That's why my eyes lit up when I saw him. He was my world. He broke up with me over text on September eighth. He wasn't feeling it anymore. I still can't comprehend that feeling that I felt when I got that text. The overwhelming darkness that took over me. They way my eyes lost their shine It was like being stabbed multiple times over and over and not dying. I wasn't able to sleep or eat for days. He wasn't the first boy to break my heart but I haven't felt anything like this in my entire #life. So fuck the tumblr posts that romanticizes heart break. fuck the movies where everyone lives happier ever after. Fuck the girls who wake up to their mr right every morning. Fuck love. It is December 19th and still struggle to get out of bed some days. I still have a hard time having a meaningful conversation about #life. My walls are 1000 ft high made of bullet proof metal. Lined with my insecurities because I never got a real reason so my head made some up for me. It's been almost four months and the boy I've had a crush on since the eighth grade told me I looked cute and Asked for my number but I couldn't even make myself smile. It's amazing how a simple "I'm not feeling it anymore" can suck the #life out of you. This feeling is all of the pain insecurity anger and #depression wrapped up in a pretty little bow of loneliness sitting like a boulder on my chest and suffocating me. I just want to take a deep breath but I can't. He broke my heart. He took the shine out of my eyes.

Cliche My first love was a cliche. He was an older boy who I was head over heals for and he just didn't feel the same. I was 12. We were perfectly imperfect Cliche number two. We didn't live happily ever after. I guess that's cliche number three. Conveniently enough with my shitty luck I was sexually assaulted in the midst of trying to pick myself up off of the ground of the devastation of a first heart break. I always try to joke about it. Cliche number 4 I sometimes act like the trigger warnings on tumblr pages or a rape sene in a movie doesn't apply to me That I'm over it... Cliche number five Sometimes I think about cutting up and down rather than side to side Cliche number six One time I tried it. But I didn't cut deep enough. So I just popped a handful of pills I bought off a friend. Cliche number seven. When I was offered a cigarette at the age of 12 almost 13 I took it. Didn't even know how to light it. I puffed away I almost literally coughed up a lung and the nicotine buzz made my head warm It's not a metaphor I like cigarettes. Cliche number eight. A week after my 13th birthday 2 weeks after the assault 3 months after I got my heart broken for the first time A boy with crystal blue eyes called me beautiful and asked me to show him my boobs. I did. Cliche number nine. When my parents found out I had to go to court. I had no choice. The man who assaulted me was my uncle. Cliche number ten He was my uncle cliche number ten he was like a big brother Cliche number ten he wasn't on his medication when it happened. Cliche number ten My own grandmother looked me in the eyes and defended him Cliche number ten Why didn't he just take his fucking medication. Cliche number ten I had no choice. Cliche number 10 The nicotine buzz became an addiction... But the buzz from weed numbs so much better. Cliche number 10 I sometimes have thoughts of cutting up and down rather than side to side. One time I tried it. I couldn't even succeed at destroying myself. I am broken. They ripped my innocents off at such a young age just like they did my pants. I was objectified as just another girl in my family to cry rape Because my family tree is more like a rape vine It started with my great grand father and my great aunts then skipped a generation and grabbed ahold of my uncle and he got me. But we cover it up with moonshine and dip cans passed around in the Chinese gift exchange at Christmas every year while we avoid their names in conversations. when I'm with my grandmother and she mentions she has a son my stomach still twists It's been four years and I sometimes still have thoughts of cutting up and down and not side to side I might try it again. I gave up the nicotine buzz and substituted it for nightly bong hits to help me sleep nightmare free And I am a fucking cliche.