Better than that sex talk.

            I went to class today. I got an ice mocha.  After my seminar class I went to Health Services to turn in my TB papers. While I was there I asked to make an appointment with a therapist. My appointment is October 13 at 7pm. I looked at myself in the reflection of my computer screen and smiled. I saw the girl, the girl he fell in love with. I saw the starry, wide eyed girl with a beautiful smile staring back at me. That’s her, I found her, for a split second. Hopefully, she’ll come out when I go to my appointment. I want her to come out and stay out for the rest of my life. I want him to love me for the girl he first saw. Later, I went driving with my friend Amanda. She gave me some advice about loving myself and to not doubt myself. This is better than that sex talk we had. I thought. “What if I took Plan B?” I asked. “That costs a lot of money for one pill.” She said. “What if I take birth control? Is it a long process?” I asked. “Yeah…” She explained everything in full detail. So in short, I should just wear a condom. That’s literally the 100% chance of me not getting pregnant. So many decisions for me to think and take. The only way for me to cope with this until my appointment is music. That helps a lot. I have 3 singers that help. London Grammar, Halsey, and Selena Gomez (her latest album). London has that sound of sadness in a truthful, heartbreaking tone. Halsey has that “fuck you” attitude that helps me get back on my feet. Selena just has that topping for my brokenness. She has the sad, crazy, and happy beat that ties it together.

Note: He hasn’t spoken to me since last night. Man, I really fucked up. I really did it this time. I wouldn’t even forgive myself for what I did. I can’t stop and I want to. Why? Why can’t I figure myself out? I want to get rid of this negativity. But all I do is talk and cry. He loves me so much that he’s willing to stay by my side and try to help. And all I do is push him away because of my unknown fear of something that I can’t put my finger on. Apparently he knows, and I’m somehow supposed to figure it out. He’s too good for me, but I make him happy. He told me so. So why is my mind telling me that I’m not good enough for him?