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Welcoming Prayers

I used to think when someone said they were praying for you it was an insult.

Sometimes, it actually is meant to be: I’m praying for your awful soul that I’ve self-righteously decided needs God’s mending. I still kind of support the idea that to tell someone you actively know doesn’t believe in God that you’re praying for them is to insult them. In my opinion, to do that is to say I understand we believe different things, but you are wrong, and therefore I will ask for God’s help for you. I know that’s not how it’s (necessarily) meant, but sometimes from the non-believer’s perspective, it can seem disrespectful and rude. I digress.

Now, sometimes, I ask for prayers. I ask my Boyfriend to pray for me–for my anger, my health, what have you.

“Have a good mass, pray for me,” I texted him.

“Always,” he responded.

Instead of being surprised or upset, I smiled.

He’s not praying for me because he thinks there’s something wrong with me. He’s praying for my wellbeing, that I’m looked over and guided and make the decisions best for me.

I’m learning not to be afraid of prayer, but to welcome it.


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The Universe Doesn’t Owe You Anything

I decided to focus on my academics. Not even a day later, a cute guy from my German class was texting me, inviting me to lunch, inviting me on study hangouts, inviting me to his house. For a split second, I let myself get wrapped up in it all again. I thought the Universe was granting me a romantic interest for actually going to class and prioritizing.

Then I remembered my motto: the Universe doesn’t owe you anything.

I took a step back from our lunch date and thought about how it made me feel. I got a little bored. I didn’t feel listened to. I didn’t feel like I was talking to a genuine person; he bragged about his intelligence, told me stories about his personal growth in a condescending manner, made several sexual suggestions that I wasn’t comfortable with. Asked about hooking up with me despite the fact that I openly told him I was not going to hook up with him or fool around with him or do anything with him. But he’d made me laugh, and he’s the first guy to look at me romantically in months. So I went with it, until I got my head back on straight.

Now I’m ghosting him.

N.A.U.L. and I had a scarily genuine conversation about our relationship.

I hope things go well with the New Girl, I told him.

I don’t feel like you mean that, he responded.

Believe it or not, I really do. The back and forth has gotten old.  I deserve someone who will think I’m worth being with. It’s nothing against you, I just am happy being friends.–Is the condensed version of my response.

Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page.

I remember reading that and laughing. I was honest with him. We were always on that page. I just didn’t want us to be.

And I may have lied to him. And I’m also sure he knows. But I will not lie on here.

I’m not okay being friends. I do hope things go well with New Girl. I do deserve someone who thinks I’m worth being with. But he does think I’m worth it. That’s not the problem.

I had flashbacks to the festival I went to over Fall Break.

What does he say when you ask why he won’t be with you? His friend asked me.

He says he doesn’t want to lose me, I rolled my eyes.

That’s a pretty good reason, he responded. And then he looked a little apprehensive before he said, Maybe he thinks he’s not good enough for you.

And, yeah, I know that’s a reason. I know it’s the reason.

But I’m not Aching. I’m Boxing. And I’m video chatting with him while he tells me that he expects to be dumped by New Girl soon.



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As aforementioned in my previous post, I just got off of Fall Break. It fell in line with an annual festival held in my hometown, so I got to go home and help my parents move out of my childhood home while simultaneously helping my sister and brother-in-law move into that same home, and then I got to spend the subsequent two days lounging along the levee, eating overpriced food, and listening to music. It was good; I needed the break from school.

I’ve been back at school for a few days now, and I’ve felt sideways ever since returning.

See, there’s a boy.

Of course there’s a boy, right? Anyway.

I’ve known him since I was twelve. We dated once, when I was fourteen, and didn’t talk for a year or two after that because of a bad breakup. But we’ve always been friends. All of my friends I’ve had to work with, for years, to understand how they work–and vice versa. He and I were never like that, even in our MySpace IM days. He’s my Soulmate. Sometimes, when we’re together, he says things that I’ve thought a thousand times but never said out loud.

I spent my entire summer with him. This summer truly solidified our relationship for  me, because we have never been closer. We have never spent so much time together. We have never spoken as much and as often as we do.

It began in January when he apologized for a fight we’d gotten into months prior, and then admitted to being diagnosed with depression, PTSD, and anxiety. And, suddenly, we were talking every day again.

It grew stronger in May when I came home from college. We restarted our, usually weekly, midnight IHOP runs. And then he took me for a late night drive. And that was my summer. Late night drives any and everywhere. I don’t sleep much, and neither does he, and we both love to be in the car.

I realized that I didn’t just like him in July, when he told me he’d put a gun in his mouth two months prior. I will never forget that night, or where we were, or what we did, or what I said. I will never forget walking on the beach thirty minutes before, nor will I forget the way he kept trying to create conversation for the thirty minutes after. We thought we saw a dead body that night. We followed a firetruck to a fire that night. That night I found out my best friend wanted to die.

I realized that I was in too deep at the beginning of last month, when it was 4AM, he’d drank an entire bottle of Jack Daniels by himself, and we’d been video chatting since 10PM. You’re the only person that’s kept me sane for the past nine months. I need you in my life. I need to talk to you every day. I’m not going to ruin this by dating you and hurting you, because I need you. If you weren’t in my life, I would be dead by now.

And I haven’t been the same since. I went home over Fall Break for four and a half days. I saw him three of those days. If you kill  my best friend, he told the girl I’d gone to the festival with (who’d been drinking very lightly), I’ll kill you. He’s never called me his best friend until now.

You two are exactly like how we were at y’all’s age, a married couple told us.

And I went back to school, and he had a girl in his bed last night.

Tonight I looked up at the moon, and I thought of him. I remembered the moon on our late night drives. I remembered the moon lighting our path when we went where there were no streetlights. I remembered looking up at it through binoculars he has from WWII in his driveway. I remembered the ache I can hide when I’m an hour and a half away from him. And I let myself ache.

After this post is done, I will box up the ache and study for my Women and Gender Studies exam, and I will paint small canvases for my Little. But for now I will ache. And hope that he calls me tonight.