Real talk

Dear Bloggers, 

Please don’t let the end of the creative semester be the end of your writing. I have come to know you all in different ways and I love you. Yes, that’s right. I love you. You all mean so much to me and I am so glad to have met you. I have wept with you, felt the emotions that are portrayed through your writing. I felt the rawness of your words. I have felt the beauty and sadness that you have felt. I have felt my heart break with yours. Please keep writing. Know that I will be here to read it if you blog it. Lastly, I hope you have found your Paris. 

The Broken Teen 

I found Paris. Not the city in France, but a safe place where I am free to be myself, even if it is behind a keyboard.  Maybe someday I will be brave enough to stand before my peers and speak the words I am about to share. But for now, for now we will have to settle for typed words.

This is real talk. 

When my parents divorced, I didn’t get a new car, or a new phone. I didn’t get a cruise or a pony, when my parents divorced.  When my parents divorced, what I got was nightmares and therapy. When my parents divorced, I got medications and a teddy bear to keep me safe at night. 

This is real talk. 

When my parents were using drugs, I didn’t get a nice social worker to take me and place me in a nice home with a nice family. Instead, I got to live with invisible mommy and daddy. Invisible parents that cleaned messes that weren’t  there. Invisible parents that didn’t see how much we needed them. 

This is real talk. 

            I got my first kiss three days before eighth grade started, and let me tell you something, he missed the first time he leaned in to kiss me. When he finally got it right, it was sloppy and slobbery and disgusting. It was not magical. It was not at all how I pictured it. Instead of being under the moonlight in a park with someone I liked, it was at the bottom of a stair case in the dark with a boy I had only known for five minutes. 

This is real talk. 

I lost my virginity the following summer. To a boy I thought I loved. To a boy I thought loved me. Instead of showing me off as his girlfriend, he acted like he hated me in front of everyone else, and maybe he did. That should have been the first sign that is was a mistake. 

This is real talk.

That boy broke up with me saying he couldn’t handle the freaky mood swings of a girl with bipolar disorder. He broke up with me because of a mental disorder I could not control.  He didn’t speak to me again for a long time.

This is real talk.

In ninth grade, I came to school late one day, and standing right in front of me was the boy who broke my heart into a thousand pieces. 

This is real talk.

The first thing he said to me was that he was sorry. He was sorry about the baby. He was sorry he wasn’t there for me when it happened. He was sorry for how things ended.

This is real talk.

Through clenched teeth I lied to him. I told him I DIDN’T NEED HIM. 

This was not real talk. 

Time has moved me away from the past, but it still hurts. I am a different person now, but I still feel those things. 

This is real talk. 

I remember

I remember the times you forgot to tuck me in because you were so high you couldn't remember your own name.

I remember the nights i would wake up to find you gone. You wouldn't be home for days.

I remember the times I'd come home to see you scrubbing invisible dirt until your fingers bled.

I remember our door being kicked in and cops every where.

I remember you being led away in hand cuffs.

I remember losing you.

I remember waking up without you there to protect me from monsters.

I remember you were the monster.

@Jim Valvano

Dear Jim Valvano,

You are the name i pulled for my white elephant. This made me really happy, tbh.
Your blog has always been one of my favorites. I love the way you write. It's deep and honestly, knowing you as a person, it's what i never would have expected you to write.
Please keep writing, Bronson. You're seriously so good at writing.

P.s.

I have had a crush on you since sophomore year. Would you go on a date with me?

Excuse me while i bitch

I need to vent for a second.

If someone is very obviously suicidal, why would you tell them to kill themselves?

Do you take you take joy in seeing me hurt?

Don't you have any feelings besides resent?

I remember the look in your eyes when you said you loved me for the first time. I remember the way time stops when we kissed. I remember the way I always felt safe when you held me after we made love. I remember the way you gently wiped my tears when my dad left. Again. I remember the way you told me you will always forgive me. I remember the way you looked me in the eyes and said it wasn't my fault, when everyone else said I asked for it. You told me you loved me, and that would never change....

 It was you and I against the world... 

Do you remember when we used to lay in the grass, just laying there, content to be next to each other? 

Or the days we would text until I got out of school, and talk on the phone during my ten minute walk to your house, the conversations we held without words, as we lay in your bed, the hours long phone calls while we waited to see eachother again the next day?

Some love notes are written. But we made ours. 

Honestly, I'm probably not going to comment on anyone's reveals. Not because they aren't good, but because I have no words good enough to tell you all how much I loved your reveals. They are all so real... So raw and so you. Revealing blogs has been pretty fucking scary, but you've all done amazing and I seriously admire you all. Thank you for being you. Thank you for being real. I have loved reading your blogs and I cannot wait to keep reading and getting to know those behind the pen names..

So...
I swear a lot
I take a billion selfies but still don't feel pretty.
I spend too much time over thinking everysinglelittlething.
I'm kind of really a bitch.
Socializing gives me anxiety.
I had a panic attack in the mall today.
I'm kind of a total fucking mess.






I am Kellie Lees.