“You can’t handle the truth!”

Last week, I said something to my fiancé that I probably shouldn’t have said.  Not because it wasn’t true, but because it was hurtful. 

I’ve been very spoiled in my relationship with him, because he’s the kind of logical, self-assured guy who’s always been able to handle any cruel or unpleasant truths I’ve thrown at him – and I mean harsh things like “you need to stop eating shit because you’re going to get fat and I won’t want to have sex with you anymore.”  I mean, yeah, it’s the truth, but it’s still probably not the kind of thing you should (or can, in many cases) say to someone you love.

 The main question I’m getting to here is an age-old one: in relationships, is honesty always the best policy, or are there certain times where it’s better to lie or say nothing? Read more »

Imagine, if you will, reading the Sunday paper and…for whatever reason…you browse the personal ads. Nothing out of the ordinary, that is, until you come a cross an ad like this:

aojfdakjfdoajfdjaodjfdaodjfajsfoaisfjaj
    “Married couple looking for woman to join in a long-term, committed 3 way relationship.”  
ksajsofiajdijfadijfaiodfjaidjfoaijfoajdfasdfjoaidjfa

Sounds kind of kinky doesn’t it? It sounds like a married couple just looking for a threesome right? Can you imagine the faces of the parents when their little girl comes home with a ring on her finger?

Daughter: Mom. Dad. I want you to meet my fiances.

Mother: Fiance, dear.

Daughter: No…fiances.

Father: No, darling, you are confused.

(cue man and woman entering)

Daughter:(Smiling and nonchalant) Meet your new Son-in-Law and new Daughter-in-Law! Aren’t they gorgeous?

(Fiances lean in for a mutual kiss)

Parents: (In horror)

[Cue black out]

[The sound of bodies hitting the ground is heard]

Daughter: Mama!?

[Cue ambulance siren]

Sounds like something you would only see on Jerry Springer or in an absurd comedy, right? As crazy as it may be, this is as real as cherry pie. I tend to have the best–unintended–luck when it comes to encountering some pretty interesting people in unorthodox situations. I am not kidding when I say my love life has been quite interesting. The question one may ask is, “Cristina, how do you find these people?” I don’t so much find them as fait introduces us. But, I am getting ahead of myself. Such a complex story deserves full explanation, so let us start at the beginning…

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Awhile back I did an interview with Tara McKee. She works at a sex shop called Good For Her and teaches a workshop on the G-Spot (which I have attended). I thought this info could be useful to you guys and gals!

“ALL WOMEN HAVE A G-SPOT but each of us reacts to stimulation differently. So some of us can find it easily – some not so much – some women like the sensation – others don’t care for it”

– Tara Mckee

Shannon Boodram: You specialize in G-Spot education amongst other sexual education sub-topics. Can you help unveil the big secrecy…what is this g-spot, who’s got it, where is it and why is it so hard to get a hold of?
Tara: the “G” stands for Grafenberg, after Ernst Grafenberg, the doctor who was studying this area on the 50’s. A bunch of scientists in the early 80’s decided to name it after him.

The G-spots is also know as the urethral sponge (the urethra is where you pee out of), and more recently it is referred to as the female prostate (just as men have a prostate, accessible through their bums that is around their urethras, women too have a prostate around our urethra’s). ALL WOMEN HAVE A G-SPOT, but each of us reacts to stimulation differently, so some of us can find it easily, some not so much, so women like the sensation , others don’t care for it. The most common question is probably “do I have one?”, and most people just don’t know where to look or how to stimulate the G-spot.

Sexual education is something many of us never received in any formal way and there are a lot of people out there who just don’t know, and not for lack of trying, experience, desire to know, just because there is a lack of thorough, honest, accurate information around pleasure out there, especially for women and women’s bodies. Also the idea of female ejaculation is very foreign to many people so understanding the difference between G-spot pleasure/orgasm, and ejaculation is a tricky one for some. Female Ejaculate comes form the G-spot, and is fluid that exits the body via the urethra 9where we pee out of) but is not urine as it does not come from the bladder. In order for ejaculation to occur, most women need direct G-Spot stimulation, while others do not, and may ejaculate from clitoral stimulation, or touching outside the body around urethral opening. Some women can ejaculate from being really turned on, this could be just from kissing or nipple stimulation. G-spot pleasure/orgasm also comes from the G-spot and direct stimulation is usually needed – many women like internal touching combined with clitoral stimulation as it hits BOTH of her hot spots at the same time. That’s why many women find it easiest to orgasm with oral stimulation and manual (fingers) on the inside.

S: Due to the location of the g-spot, is it safe to say that male penis size really doesn’t matter?
T: Ah, yes, the infamous “does size matter” debate! The G-spot is located closer to the opening of the vagina than most people realize, so whether the guys are large or small, there is always possibility of hitting the G-spot. For simplicity’s sake, especially while learning, I always suggest using your hands first! Fingers can get the tactile sensation or the G-spot are, that is more course, or ridgey that the rest of the vagina, you can feel the G-spot as it swells into the vagina, and you might feel the muscles start to contact around your fingers ore easily than around a penis. Don’t worry guys, you can all find it – as long as she wants to and you want to it is be worth exploring!

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When we are young, our parents and grown ups seem to have all the answers. We grow up thinking that being an adult means you magically understand everything, but you don’t. When you reach eighteen you are legally and adult, but age has nothing to do with adulthood.

“Mom, why are you and dad fighting?”
I was only 8, but I knew something was going on.

 My mother wiped the tears from her eyes, looked away plastering a fake smile on her face.
“No reason, Nina. Go back to the room and watch T.V.”

I was not stupid,
“Why are you crying, Mama?”

“No ti preocupa, mi hija. Vete.”
Translation: Don’t worry my child. Go.

But, I was worried. The woman who had always had the answers was starting to collapse. I was 8 years old, I did not know what was going on, but I knew it was not good.

In the later years, my parents would divorce and I would see how human my mother really was. She was no longer a super hero because she was indestructible, but rather, she became a super hero because she faced the world day to day despite its horrors and despite her vulnerability. She did it for us. She did it for me. I learned how to become an adult from an early age. My mother was no longer this omnipotent being; She was as human as I, and we were all each other had. We put down the curtains of shielding from truth and became honest with one another, because what ever happened to one was going to effect the other. We swam or sank together.

I suppose, those lessons I learned with mom growing up, are why I am who I am today. I learned team work. I learned about friendship. I learned about unconditional love and support in the hard times. I learned there were going to be fights–ugly ones at that–but that no matter what, it was her and I against the world. We pulled through and I am where I am because we never stopped believing in each other. She was not just my Mom, she was also my friend.

I believe we learn love from our surroundings growing up, and come to understand whether those lessons in our youth were right or wrong when life sets in. I got lucky growing up. I was shown what love is, and thus I am able to put that forth to others in my relationships with friends and women.

See, my closest friends are the ones who will never give up on me, even when they absolutely want to. I once ask my best friend:

“Colin, never leave me or give up on, okay?”

He let out a soft, sighed laugh through the phone. He took a breath in saying,
“Honey child, I couldn’t even if I wanted too.”

The word “friend” is tossed around frequently now a days, but few know what a friend really is. I have been blessed in my life with the few close friends I do have. See, many think friendship is just about the good times, but then bail when the hard times set in. Then, when the storm has passed, they magically reappear, as if nothing ever happened. Those are not the friends who last a lifetime.

You get through the bad to get to the good, and the bad times make you understand why the good times are just that good. No one has all the answers to life, not even therapists. If they say they do, then they are idiots. The best lessons in life are not taught, but rather, discovered.

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In a previous post, I discussed how sex changes everything. It really does. Last night, I discovered the truth to the why of my last break up. It was a combination of miscommunication, assumptions, and sex. My former partner was a virgin, and I mean a virgin. She was not the kind who has done things before, but never had sex. She had really never done anything sexual at all.

There is a quote from a movie called The Truth About Jane.  It goes something like this: “It’s hard enough having sex for the first time, but when it’s with a girl… your just asking for it.”It’s true. You get the talk about the birds and the bees with men and women, but when it comes to two girls having sex… you are on your own to figure it out. Then trying to figure out what hapend and how to handle the emotions. Not being ready when you thought you were. All these things complicate love and soon you get lost in the struggle of understanding sex and the struggle makes you forget the love–that is–if you don’t talk about what is going on.

This poem is based on this new knowledge.

The Lost Maze of Your Soul

Sex changes everything and warps all that is known.
Emotions are lost, confused, disrupted.
The bond is complicated.
What has been known is now distorted.
Lost inside the maze of your mind.

No one believes us when we say sex is serious.
We are prudes who know nothing.
No one believes us when we say sex changes everything.
We are merely over exaggerating our own thoughts.
Lost inside the maze of your mind.

When it happens,
Even if it is planned in a safe place and time,
Something complex begins to occur.
The emotions flood the soul who has never known this kind of love.
Confusion takes hold while your passions–good or bad–run wild.
You are no longer safe behind your own label name or off brand cloths.
There are no barricades between you and your lover
Just skin and bones.
Fear is normal when you experience sex for the fist time.
Lost inside the maze of your mind.

You have to talk,
You have to make sure that what you wanted won’t hurt you as the days go by.
It is a delicate animal this thing we call love.
To sudden of movements can cause it to run off.
To quick a pace can make love become lost in a tsunami of emotional strain.
Lost inside the maze of your soul.

Sex is not the decider of love’s fate.
Love will continue even when sex is no longer a factor of the game.
Lost inside the maze of your mind.
Found the truth to late.
Lost inside the maze of your soul.
Now love is gone.
The memory of sexual strain is all that remains.
Your love for me has now been lost to the maze of your emotions.
Trapped inside the maze of your soul.

Cristina–The Now Chaste–Marrero

 March 21, 2004 – Age 17
I felt the muscles of my vagina wall tightly contract around the doctor’s index and middle finger while he made a counter-clockwise circular motion inside of me. An arch in the middle of my back instantly crept up my spine from the slight arousal that I experienced while he aggressively fingered the soft interior of my body. The clear, jelly substance previously squeezed onto his latex glove before penetrating between my thighs, gave him the advantage to swiftly evaluate my level of pain prior to injecting me with a chemical that would partially numb my cervix.

The clinic bed was cold, rigid and uncomfortable. One bright spotlight illuminated downward from the ceiling into the centre of the operating room where I laid flat on my back with my legs spread wide and my feet held firmly in place by silver metal stirrups. My body shivered feverishly from the chilled air and with only a thin slice of fabric wrapped around me I felt completely vulnerable and embarrassed because both my private area and dark secret were completely exposed to light.

The surgeon’s emotionless expression masked his ghostly white coloured face and with deep concentration he adjusted his bifocals then instructed the nurse, who stood on the right side of him, to engage me in conversation in order to distract me from the pain and suffering that he anticipated.

Quietly standing in the corner of the room, I noticed a short, grey haired elderly lady slowly stepping towards me. Her skin was pasty and wrinkled, but her physical appearance didn’t camouflage her warm smile. Once she approached my bedside, she gently interlocked her fingers into my left hand as if to create a sense of reassurance that the surgery would be executed to perfection. She begun to utter a few words and her intensions might have meant well, but the dull tone in her voice gave me the impression that she had repeated the same list of questions numerous times before, almost as if it were rehearsed in perfect sequence.

I ignored the nurse with disinterest, lifting my head slightly above my shoulders so that my attention exclusively focused on the interaction between the tools intertwined within the surgeon’s fingertips and the eager motion he made towards the cusp of my vagina.

My eyes gazed down at a small cylinder shaped object gradually entering my cervical canal and for a moment I had a flashback to the particular experience that brought me to the abortion clinic in the first place.

 P.R.

 Ok, so I am not exactly a poet. I just write and stuff comes out…. idk. This–good or crap–is something I wrote and would like to share. Go easy on the novice, k? lol

The Kiss of An Angel

Your touch.
The words you whispered.
Your voice. 

Your heart beat.
Your rapid motions.
Your moans and groans. 

The look in your eyes.
The beat of your heart.
The trust in your arms. 

The love in your stare.
The embrace of a lover.
The heart of a friend.
The forever love of a partner. 

The clinching of my shoulders.
The warm embrace.
The listening of your heart beat.
The quickening of its pace. 

The slowing down of motion.
The slow withdrawal.
The kiss of an angel.
The kiss from my heart.

The staring into a lover’s eyes.
The holding you close.
The hugging me tight.

The whisper of the words:
“I love you.”
The smile of a dream.

 The holding promise.
The never letting go.
The grip of forever.
The promise to always hold you close. 

The peace of serenity.
The home in your arms.
The peace you gave within me.
The joy we found in each other’s hearts. 

Where did it go wrong?
When did the love fade away?
The kiss of angel.
My angel flew away.

Cristina–The Sometimes Artistic Poet–Marrero

Case and point, love kills all.
Shadows of doubt washes over me.
Thinking of a way out…I can’t find one.
Our love is to strong.
Running through the maze of misery & pain.
Wiping away endless tears, that flows down to your heart.
Him…
Wishing I can hate you…but I can’t.
Our love is to strong.
The only way out is for me to take your last breath..I can’t.
Our love is to strong.
I have no use of the words “I love you” & “I miss you”.
Actions are better.
Emotions never shown…for my own protection.
Scared to know the truth..about you and me..us.
You are my worst enemy & my one true…everything.
Our love is to strong…but…
I’d rather die than to say “I need you”.
Because my pride is stronger.

T.S.

“Lift up your shirt.”
And I did.
He kissed my neck, “Tell me you like it.”
“I do.”
He bit my nipple, “How does that feel?”
“AWFUL!”

Sexually, there are a lot of things other people do that I personally don’t like. Moreover I’d guesstimate that majority of women would not like – yet it’s common practice! For example, why during dry humping/ heavy petting do men take their strongest hand and proceed to massage your crotch through your clothes like it’s a knot in your shoulder… uh that doesn’t feel good! Have you ever seen a vagina before dude? It’s got small, delicate parts and the clitoris has something like 8 times as many nerve endings as the penis’ head! So you fisting my lady parts is the equivalent of me grinding your penis tip to the ground with my stiletto heel. Yeah you don’t like the sound of that do ya! 

But it’s very hard to tell people they are not quite good at the things that they have an inflated ego over. So when I recently read this article about a Sex Academy in Germany I thought, “what a boss idea!” Here they teach you all of the basics on sex and show viewers all of the female errogenous zones + tell you how to correctly touch them. There is even a mannequin you can put your fingers inside and she yells “That’s it!” when you touch the G-Spot (I so have to do a post on the G-Spot soon).

“Finally — an exhibition for those who always have to touch everything.”

.
It’s a wacky idea but I really like it. lol how do you think your partner would respond when you hand him a brochure for this new academy you think he should attend. If there was one of these in my city, I would be sending anonymous pamphlets to guy’s doors ALL DAY!

Shannon – I bet some guys are wishing I’d go to! – Boodram

This poem is one I had tucked away for a very long time. It came to me one day over a comment someone (I can’t remember who now) had made about the girls in the R. Kelly video who “wanted” to have sex with him, therefore there wasn’t a crime. As usual I got pissed off, and as usual so did my pen. So that’s also to let you know that this story is not mine, but I know it belongs to many others, too many in fact. I’ve finally finished it to my liking so I hope you all enjoy it.

She Knows She Wanted It
By: Crystal ‘Clear’ Coburn

Daddy the man that touched me
knew I was underage
He said I was close enough to a woman
Only a few years short of my woman stage
He did a lot of things to me
Some I know you’ll hate
But don’t worry I took it like a champ
I think I maybe, probably, sort of wanted it anyway

He said we could be better friends
when I turned old enough to vote
But for now we’ll have to be in secret
Because no one will understand
They can’t know
I thought I should tell you though
‘cause maybe you wouldn’t mind
does it seem wrong to you?
My grown looking body you can’t deny
I’ve done it at school with the boys before
He said I was on point
I’m better than the other girls
You should have heard him beg for more

Don’t be mad at him Daddy
I’m practically 16
That’s a little less than half his age
At least I’m older than a preteen
Plus I’ve heard the way you talk
With your friends about the women who pass
Sizing up their figure
Nothing less than an hourglass
And I know he’ll like me more
You know, the guy that’s older than me
I have to become a big girl now
So don’t cry, at least not for me

You have always told me I’m pretty
A comment that is sometimes a bore
But maybe you should have told me
That he wouldn’t consider me
Nothing but a whore
And perhaps you should have told me
To wait until I’m ready
Maybe then
I wouldn’t have to look down
At my spreading belly

Sex changes everything. It really does. I was with someone for 8 months last year. She left me around the same time my last ex decided to dump me. So, one dumped me June 2008 and another dumped me June 2009. That first ex tore my heart out, and I promised myself to wait until marriage before I had sex with someone else. That, or until the individual I was with proved to me that they would stay through thick and thin. For me… sex is not just sex. When I have sex with someone, it is the ultimate trust factor. It means I trust you with my heart and will all of me. Sex is the ultimate gift because it trusts the most fragile possession I have to my lover. That possession would be… myself.

I had chances and I passed them up. When I met my most recent ex… I let myself love and trust again. She was a virgin, something I do not take lightly. My first time was horrible and I vowed to make sure it was not that way with her. Sex was not an option in my mind. I put it out of thought because someone’s V-card is serious business. You can never get it back. My ex and I waited 2 months. She brought it up, she set the pace and I made sure she was sure about everything she wanted to do. Her first time was in a safe environment and it was comfortable, not forced. The first couple of times after that were great, but sometime switched a long the way. I really do not know what it was, but sex changed our relationship.

We had this very sweet, loving relationship. We would tease each other, and to be quite honest, we resembled an old married couple getting into lover’s quarrels. I would try to give her my jacket when it rained, but she would be stubborn and say no and we would go back and forth… my friends wanted to vomit. However, we were not the “No, I love you more,” “No, I love you more” couple. That made even us vomit. We just cared about each other and loved each other.

We were friends and partners. But then, sex came in the picture and it all collapsed. Suddenly, there were no more lovers’ quarrels. No more streams of conscious for me. No more poems, flowers, or dates. Suddenly, the romance vanished, and with it did her love. The love got lost somewhere between sex and boredom.

I have seen married couple after married couple suffer from a hetero or homo deathbed. In the lesbian world, it is called Lesbian Death Bed. That is where the sex life starts to die. I think it dies because we place too much emphasis on sex. Yeah, it is nice, but it is not all that matters. I think if you have too much of one thing… you get bored. Like C.S. Lewis’s theory on enchantment.

You get curious because you have never tried it.
You try it, love it, and do it all the time.
You get bored and push it aside… forgetting about it.
One day, you pick it back up and fall in love with it all over again, but for different and same reasons.

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I think, for the most part, Canada has been experiencing a crappy summer. Thankfully though the sun came out yesterday and a couple of friends and I seized the opportunity to go swimming. When we got to the change room  we saw two  younger girls, probably 10 or 11, getting undressed. We aren’t pervs or anything but we noticed that both flat chested children were wearing bras. Even more so, they seemed so excited to be wearing them. They then proceeded to change into their two piece bikinis and head into the water.

Interestingly this sparked a debate between my friends. One side said that they thought nothing of it. They saw it as little girls just being curious and playing dress up while the other side argued that this was over sexualizing children. I can understand both viewpoints. Personally I started wearing bras when I was in grade 3 or 4 but that was because of my family curse of huge breasts was beginning to rear it’s head. I never thought of wearing bras and two pieces as sexy or appealing, if anything I just wanted them for their pretty design. I think it’s easy for many females to overlook or think nothing of little girls “trying new things out” because we aren’t predators and as much as we don’t realise it we live life with rose coloured glasses on. Our initial reaction isn’t to think that a dirty old man in the pool may be turned on, or that another female may attack her in the change room. We know that experimenting and wanting to wear clothes that are maybe not age appropriate is just a part of growing up and is sort of a right of passage, so I that is why we don’t give it another thought.

However on the other side, I know that in this day and age our children are being pumped with messages about sexuality left, right, and centre on a daily basis. So maybe their excitement to wear a bikini may need to be addressed by a trustworthy adult. I personally don’t think that children need to be worrying about what is sexy and what is not. If my hypothetical flat chested daughter asked for a bra I would tell her to go for a run or go nap or something. Media is forever trying to mask or dress up sexuality so that parents will buy into it. Just because your shirt is pink and sparkly doesn’t make the message “Dirty Angel” any better.

I know that this issue affects both sexes but it is predominately a female issue. Little girls have been interested in “big people” matters since the beginning of time, but do you think that the age of these girls is getting younger and younger? What is your opinion on  the issue? Or is it an issue at all?

Jay

  

She got off the bus in a hurry, at the corner of the street a few feet
the clinic stood in plain view for the city to see.
Three knocks then the smiling face greets
“Come on in”
She states her cause and need.
The nurse directs her to Alliance where a doctor can prescribe
And try to fix it: this situation
Only a statistic, in the doctor’s eyes

True maybe

The paper says PLAN B
Running out the wind is fierce, she takes the bus to the pharmacy
To get those pills, surprised cause they go down with ease
Symptoms state dizziness, vomiting, nausea, fatigue

Good god! She thinks
Continues on with her day, as if any other
In the night she can feel her body swelling underneath the covers
Is this a symptom she wonders?
Exhausted, she falls asleep
One toss, three turns
The countdown now, for that noun at the end of a sentence
Tremendous feelings of regret bombard her, emotions control her

Yet this is what she wanted
Nothing unwanted

–naiduk

All my life I’ve had to “play nice.” I’ve had to try to not ruffle any feathers, which is more for your sake than my own. I’ve been trained to “go along” with whatever comes my way and frankly, at age 25, in 2009, I’m f*cking tired of it. I’m straight up OVER IT. I’m tired of guys trying to force women into being interested in them. I’m tired of men not understanding when a woman says “no I don’t want to take a picture with you,” and further exacerbating the situation by asking “why not?” I’m absolutely nausiated when a guy thinks that becuase I’ve decided to humour his conversation that that gives him the jurisdiction to put his arm around my waist and lean in. I hate having to worry about offending a man, or endangering my life because I want to tell him to “eff off” after he continues to act like he didn’t hear me the first time, when I said “no” nicely.

Despite what society tells us about women being promiscuous whores I always find it’s men who are the first to strike and are quick to take a woman’s various ways of saying “no” as encouragement to get closer. As a woman I feel like everyday I have to stand on guard and situate myself in whatever environment I’m in at the time in a way that’s least harmful to me. Why? Why? Why?

Ummm, I said I DON'T WANT TO TALK TO YOU

If I’m friendly, a lot of times this is taken as an “in,” and if I’m abrupt I need to “smile more” or “loosen up.” These things can happen in various settings; parties, bbqs, in the line at Walmart, or in the grocery aisle. SMDH. For all you men that can’t take a hint, or can take a hint but think you’re above it, peep the picture below. This might happen to you. One day soon I hope

Please realize that I’m not angry in the sense of being “bitter.” I’m angry in the real sense of anger, and rather annoyed too. While I don’t mean the above picture literally it does make me smile at the prospect of it. Twisted as that may seem, I can probably bet I’m not the only one that feels this way.

For the women, all I can say is stay strong and hold your ground as best as possible.

For the men, get a clue, a vowel, a light bulb…something. But most of all, have some compassion. Treat me (and other females) like we should be; human.

Take care everyone!

Crystal “Clear” Coburn

I’ve never had much luck in the relationship department but that’s my own doing.

Doesn’t it seem like life’s cruel joke when you end a relationship because your significant other cheated on you. The bitter taste in your mouth leaves a nasty residue that somehow stays with you, whenever you start having that desire for someone sweet. I refuse to open myself to harm. Once was enough.

Yet, everywhere I look, i feel like everyone has their “someone” to fall back on. And as hard as I try, to be mean and bitter towards the idea and concept of being with someone, deep down inside, i wish i had someone too.

Then reality hits and I open my eyes to friends getting pregnant, weddings, and mainly the death of childhood. I’m not ready for that. Call me selfish, but since I was a little girl, i’ve had goals planned out. There were certain things that I was going to get done before I settle down and find Mr. Wright.

Yes. Mr. Wright. I can’t even say, “I want to be Mrs. so and so”. I feel like this name that has been given to me, will be lost to the age old tradition of taking on the male’s last name. It’s nice if you want to continue this custom, but I’m very proud of my family and our history. I feel like being in a relationship some how destroys a part of your individualism.

I think that is what I’m most scared of.

My friends retort, “well, what about Mr. Right now?”

I retort, no thanks. I do not even want to risk the collapse of my dreams. When I planned my goals, i only planned for a party of one.

I’m so selfish.

I depend on myself for everything. To feed myself, to put gas in my car, to pay my bills, to buy me clothes, and at the end of the day, have enough for a 6-pack. My friends and loved ones come with no price and in return we are always there for one another. I call us a genuine post-modern hippie commune. We all put in and we all take out. Except, everyone else is putting in and taking out with their “someone”.

Then the circle starts again. For once, i’d like to see what it feels like to rely on someone else for something. Anything. Everything. Instead of someone, anyone, everyone, depending on you.

But at what cost?

I fear losing myself.

I just wish i had someone to do it with.