Screw Technology

This is what pain feels like. 

Pain is feeling completely isolated when surrounded by a group of people who barely look up.

Pain is your courage to finally share a story to a room of people looking down at their cellphones, unable to so much as glance in your direction to hear about your vivid excitement or obvious distress.

Pain is not a single person in the room looking up to make eye contact with you, just solemn “mhms” and nods that are part of a performance- of how they should be reacting to make you feel “important”.

Pain is when someone finally looks you in the eye, you breathe a sigh of relief and gratitude because you are finally being heard, until you catch their thumbs moving automatically… not even needing sight to be imprisoned by a screen.

Pain is getting to the rising action and recognizing that not a single person is looking at you.

Pain is stopping mid-sentence in complete defeat, only to feel unworthy when no one realizes you’ve ended your attempt at conversation.

Pain is having this happen to you over and over again.

When was the last time you were truly WITH someone? When was the last time you turned your phone off so you could drink in every syllable of someone who trusts you to take an interest in their life?

Can you comprehend the utterly gut wrenching pain that shoots throughout someone when you look at your phone in the middle of a conversation?

Do you know how awful it feels to think you don’t matter because a text, a Facebook notification, a like is more important then the time someone is spending with you?

It’s ridiculous.

If you care about someone, prove it. Give them your undivided attention. Ask them questions, engage with them, ask them how their day is.

How often do we actually get asked how our days are that isn’t just a subtle formality? 

How often does someone actually care about how our days went?

No one deserves to feel like this.

Put your phone down and show someone you care.

Put your phone down and save the relationships you haven’t already damaged.

Put your phone down and respect someone’s time with you.

Just put your damn phone down. 

Until tomorrow,

Anna Marie

 

 

 

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At Least I Had Love Letters To Rip Through

I’ve had a hard time finding time to write on this blog and I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve lost a bit of inspiration or if it really is because senior year is wrestling me to the ground. Either way, a new commitment (mentally and now electronically) has been made to bring back the effort to this site.

I wrote this at 1 am last night while laying in bed.

I have found that writing through my emotions and pain (however long and grueling a process this is) has been the best way to deal with what I go through. It’s kind of insane how I can feel so incredibly content until I am exhausted at home from the day and have to sort through this mess of whatever I’m feeling.

Sometimes I get jealous of those who aren’t emotional at all.

Then again, they probably wouldn’t write anything like this…

I ripped through your words tonight.

I was waiting to burn them but I couldn’t wait anymore. 

I ripped every picture and bribed my heart.

I told it that if I could make it through this moment without a single tear that I was stronger than I thought.

And I didn’t cry.

I wanted to. I wanted to read every word one more time and then hide them in a corner just to know that I wasn’t dreaming what I thought I had. 

But I ripped through them instead because I knew that I wanted love back, not you.

I ripped through diaries and stories and I love yous gone to hell.

I ripped through ticket stubs and anniversary cards and I took them straight to the dumpster in the pouring rain. 

But you know what? At least I know what it’s like to have love letters. 

But I don’t ever want to know what they said anymore.

And as I walked back up the stairs to my apartment door, damp from the rain, my head became light and I fell onto my bed.

For a night, I could finally breathe. 

And if you see me as weak, pathetic-you name it. I am far from every single one of those words.

I am worth more than dead poetry and used to bes.

I am more than false hope and biased memories. 

Last night, before I ripped through the past, I reached the end of my rope.

I want you to know I felt so awful, I would have done anything to get the crushing weight on my chest flown off of me. 

But I couldn’t think of  a single thing. 

It was crushing and suffocating.

Until I ripped through those memories. 

Every single rip rang in my ears and put something back together.

Every tear of another page made my heart ice over the searing heat that had left me so angry.

Tonight- I felt something that I haven’t felt in a really long time. 

Not closure, not a heart beating anew, not healing… I felt myself inch forward.

A fraction of an inch that I took so proudly that I can’t bear to tell you how destroyed I had to be to get here. 

These tiny inches are battles that I am fighting every single day and to tell you that I’m okay or that everything happened like it was supposed to would be a lie. 

Every day, every hour feels different. 

But my god, that fraction of an inch felt so good. 

Until Next Time,

Anna Marie

Laying All My Secrets Bare

Sometimes inspiration is taking what you feel angry about and fighting against it.

Well, I’m not fighting today. I’m taking all of this accumulating anger and pushing them into words.

This is about recognizing what you’re feeling.

Then it’s having the balls to write about it.

I Hope You Know

I hate admitting that I still think about you.

I hate it. 

I have never been more angry with myself or with another person.

I have never expected more from a human being who has let me down.

You make me angry.

It’s crazy how quickly my anger dissolves when I try to confront someone.

It’s like I have two people sharing my body and the nice one always overrules the mean one.

My words come out kinder and where I want to say “you are awful for what you did to me” I say “it’s okay”. 

But it’s not okay.

It was never okay.

I need a formula to tell me how much time passes before you don’t cross my mind every day. 

I need a million dollars to pay off my University so I can finally leave these towns and these memories.

I need a plane ticket to the next town out of here.

Because I am sick of being the girl who can’t stand up for herself for fear of being mean.

I’m sick of fighting for people that fight way too hard to be let go by me. 

Some people deserve to feel your anger.

You, especially, deserve to feel my anger.

Because I have never felt more rage than I have had within me. 

And as badly as I want to march to your door, punch you square in the jaw, force you to apologize and walk away, I somehow control every heart-wrenching emotion and I fight it every single day because I tell myself that it’s not worth it.

It wouldn’t change anything.

It sure as hell won’t make me a better person.

It sure as hell won’t make you snap out of it.

It sure as hell won’t give me any answers.

And that’s the worst part.

Knowing the cowardice behind fake answers and I don’t knows.

Because you do know.

And  it’s not worth my time anymore.

But it doesn’t mean I don’t think about it.

And I’ll keep thinking about it until enough days pass that the bitterness fades or I just get used to it being a familiar friend.

No one will ever understand the strength it takes to write about pain and what you’re feeling. It’s terrifying and vulnerable. But I found that vulnerability only hurts when you don’t use it. Vulnerability is beautiful and that’s why I write about what hurts. I have decided to be a completely open book in these next few posts. Honesty is beautiful.

Until tomorrow,

Anna Marie