Because I Need an Existential Crisis Moment

Hey shug,
I sit here today, more quiet, more contemplative than I've felt lately. I wish I had the magic words for this piece, or a clear idea of where it was going. I sit around and wonder, does anything on my blog mean anything? Does it come out as a clear representation of how I feel, or do I just start writing and keep on with whatever sounds good in my head. Are you impressed with your writing, or do you ever look at it and feel like it's fake? Does anything I say even matter? Have my words ever truly changed anyone's heart, have yours? Do your words feel deeply important and relevant? Did my words ever change your heart? They didn't make my mom come back. That didn't make anyone be there for me when I totaled my car. They didn't make him let me see his kids. Writing has always been an escape, but if they never change anything, what am I doing? I guess the same shit I'm always doing, just trying to cope. I mean that's how I started writing. To you, every night. It was the only thing I could do. Did you ever hear those words? No. Do you hear them now? No. Do you care what happened to me, my story? No. Do I just keep going at it, like I'm drowning and these words are my only savior? Yes. I look around and feel like everyone's life is falling into place, except mine. I'm still little lost Samantha, while everyone else manages to get their shit together. I'm that one person it's easy to overlook while everyone just keeps going. Then again, I was always an easy one to leave behind. At least it's consistent. All the people who have left, do they care what happens to me, what becomes of me? Will my life ever actually count for anything? You keep fighting, against all odds that all of this isn't for nothing. That life matters and eventually we all find a place to our soul. What if it doesn't? What if the ultimate, cosmic joke is that life doesn't matter, it has no purpose and is automatically and continuously stacked against you. That nothing you do will ever truly matter/ My words don't matter, and they probably never will. Do you still write? Your words were real words, power to change and connect with people words. Per usual, drink one for me.

One That is Part of the New Series - Interview One

* man who has had his first real relationship, lasting six months, and is currently single

Me: Once you realized things in your relationship weren't going well, why did you chose to still stay for another two months?
Them: I stayed to try to make it work.

Me: Why did you inevitably feel like you needed to break up?
Them: I just felt like too much was happening.

Me: When you look at yourself, what are some improvements you think you could have made in the relationship?
Them: I shouldn't have spent so much time trying to please someone that I couldn't make happy. I felt like I couldn't be happy until she was, but she needed to make herself happy, not me.

Me: Do you think she wasn't happy in general or do you think she just wasn't happy in the relationship.
Them: I think she just wasn't happy in general.

Me: If you could go back in time and do it over, would you still date her?
Them: No, I think don't think I would, we're just better off as friends.

Me: Do you think there are any issues she could have improved on?
Them: I'm not real sure.

Me: Did it hurt you when you saw her in a relationship with someone else?
Them: No, I just wanted her to be happy.

Me: Did you guys have anything to tie you together? A pet, a kid, a plant?
Them: No.

Me: How did you feel after the break up?
Them: Once it happened, I felt more free.

One Where Things Come to an End

Sailor got up in the middle of the night. The thought occurred to her, this is exactly how this started all those years ago. She looked down on the person in bed, his blonde hair glowing in the moonlight. She leaned down, sat on the floor and began to whisper to him. "It's crazy how much as happened. Please know that I loved you though. More than I have ever loved anyone. It was impossible not to fall in love with you. But I need something different now. I need to be heard and understood. My words need to carry weight with someone. I shouldn't have to feel alone because I can't express how I feel because I'm always being cut off and interrupted before I even got a chance to explain. I need to be cared for, I need someone who won't get mad when I'm not okay because it means they're not getting their way. I need someone ready to support me and help get me and us back to where we need to be. I'm sorry I need someone to tell me it's okay. I need someone to be nice to me until I'm ready to be nice to myself. I need nice words instead of harsh ones. I need recognition on how much I put into this. Things won't always be okay, but when you aren't nice to me simply because things aren't okay, okay gets further and further away. You just don't seem to understand. You want me to be all over you and ready to jump your bones when you come in the door, then I need to be okay and I need us to be okay. Literally all I need is for you to be nice to me. But you won't. It's like you can't be nice to me for more than 24 hours at a time. You can't be nice for two hours and think that makes you nice to me. Be nice for a week, two weeks and then it'd be a conversation. You have hurt me, wounded me, and the only back is to nurture me. You have to nurture a wounded thing, give it special care and attention, or it won't heal. And you won't do that for me. I'm sorry and you always were my favorite." Sailor got up, wiped her tears, and grabbed her shoes on the way out the door. And she left the blonde boy for the final time.