Future lover dearest: a totally not sappy introductory guide to me

Posted on September 3, 2016

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I may not know what exactly went into your head and you decided to choose a sad sack of a potato for a lover, but I’m sorry. And thanks.

First of all, I’m not a chick. I mean, you probably knew that beforehand considering the fact that you chose me, but I just wanna reiterate the fact that I will never be *that girl*. I’ll never be the kind of girl you could brag about to your friends. I’ll never be the girl your mom and dad would call “a good catch”. I’m not one of those girls who has every earthly being fawning over her, the kind of girl who could make any boy do anything for her with just a hair flip or sultry gaze. I’m not the kind of girl who would get thousands of likes on a profile picture minutes after uploading it.

I’m the girl who’s just kind of…there. I’m the girl who is not used to feeling beautiful. Insecure as I may sound, that’s the truth. And I have a knack for spitting out truths, hard as they may seem.

I’m not the girl who has everything figured out before age 25, but I swear I’m getting there. I’m not on par with the ones who are either raking in six-figure salaries or thousands of Twitter followers. I’m just taking whatever respectable job there is for me, hoping to save up enough money for law school. Let’s face it: I’m not smart or hardworking enough for a scholarship, not rich enough to afford skyrocketing tuition fees. Truth be told, I’m taking the career I need to take in order to survive. That’s what growing up is about, I guess. Yay capitalism.

I’m not an achiever, and I’m honestly not that smart. I may read a lot of books, but sometimes I feel like I’m just pretending to be intelligent. I’m not the girl who did everything and achieved whatever there was to achieve in high school and college. I’m not the girl who has a shit-ton of social groups, nor the kind of girl who…peaked, I guess. I’m a floater, a nobody, a vagabond. A subterranean, never on anyone’s radar.

That being said, I do hope you’re okay with girls who have resting bitch faces and snarky comments on society. Heck, I’m not even funny.

I’m the girl who vents a lot, the girl who loves to write because she’s better at putting into written words the thoughts that keep racing in her head.

You see, I’m not exactly OK.

See, if you wanna be my lover (pun intended), you have to be prepared to tolerate my stupid fucking mental issues. Lover, meet depression and anxiety. And meds. Some days it gets really bad, and you probably wouldn’t even notice. That’s the thing about me, I always look calm even though my head is a fucking riot. It’s messy inside there.

If I get episodes again, please know that it’s not your fault. And I’m sorry, I’m trying my hardest to be better. I’m ready to let you go if you don’t want to do this shit anymore, but there will be something in me asking you to please do not give up on me.

Even though I have no fucking idea how to be a good girlfriend (seeing as I’ve never been one), I’ll try my best to be a good fucking best-est friend (if you have a best friend already). I want to know everything about you, and I want you to experience all the good that I have experienced in this world. I’ll probably sleep through texts or online convos sometimes (most of the time probably), but you bet your ass I’ll stay up at 3 AM if you ever call me crying your eyes out. I know what it’s like to be completely engulfed in sadness, I live with sadness all the time. I don’t want others who feel that kind of crippling sadness to feel alone.

I’m not the overly enthusiastic type of girl, I’m honestly afraid of coming across as clingy. But if you happen to be on stage performing in a fucking tutu and bunny ears, I’d be at the audience holding supportive placards and then backstage to hand you water and respectable clothing.

As you may have realized, I’m not the kind of girl who is used to having boyfriends. I’m not afraid to be alone and do things by myself. You don’t have to be with me every single fucking day but please, please assure me that I still have a place in your life. That alone is enough for me.

Just so you know, I cannot cheat. It’s not in my system. First of all, I barely even get out of the house. Other guys are the least of your problems. Second, I cannot bear with shattering the trust of someone I love. Even I cannot do something that cruel.

Lover, I’m a picky person, okay? I’m choosy with my closest friends. So if I chose you, you bet that I really do want you.

Also, I’m totally fine with you looking at other girls. I gush at celebrities from time to time. Especially musicians, might I add.

Okay, maybe not that fine. I mean, part of me doesn’t really care as long as I’m assured that I’m your girl or something, but if you actively pursue them? Trust me, I’d be that stereotypical girl who goes all, “huhuhu why huhuhu what’s wrong with me? 😦 😦 😦 everything’s wrong with me huhu why was I born.”

I’m the kind of girl you could take anywhere, after all I want adventure in the great, wide somewhere. Disney references aside, I am great at the stay-at-home hangout. I have a thing for thought-provoking stuff and entertaining myself (not that way, perverts).

And just so you know, I will MOST LIKELY…no…DEFINITELY judge you on your taste in music. You can judge me on my dance moves. I spend HOURS on perfect mixtapes. Music is such a big part of me, I guess that’s what happens when something saves your life.

Be my lover and be prepared for extended stays in bookstores, indecisiveness at boutiques, and making fun of some people in random places. Be prepared for weird conversations on even weirder topics, moodiness, pseudo-philosophical musings, that kind of shit.

Be prepared to be with a late bloomer, a psycho, a messed-up sarcastic weirdo. I may not know what made you decide that I’m worth it, but you bet your life that I believe that you are. And I’ll make you believe that too.

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