Scratches on My Soul

I’m a pain in the ass.

(This much I’m sure of.)

I am a brown-noser.

I cry a lot.

I complain about things… constantly.

I have big legs.

I have a big ass.

I have two fake teeth (that are whiter than my real teeth).

I am LOUD… like, REALLY loud. All the time.  I can never control my volume.  It’s a problem.

I burp. I fart. Like a man.

I go back and forth between hating my ex-boyfriend and remembering the good times on a daily basis.

I have a tendency to drink too much.

I sleep with four teddy bears and assorted Disney character stuffed animals.  And I’m 24.

I pop my zits.

I take pills for depression an anxiety.

I read Harry Potter 1-7 every year.  Sometimes twice.

I wear my heart on my sleeve.

I sing on the subway.

I tell boys they are cute, out of the blue… because I can.

I am a fag-hag. Queer Queen. LGBT spokesperson until i die.

I cry about the death of my mother every other day.

Sometimes I think I see ghosts.

I talk in my sleep.

I like to call people rather than text.

I am afraid no one will ever love me as much as my ex-boyfriend. Even though he fell out of love with me.

I act over-confident to make up for my insecurities.

____________________________________________________________________________

People either hate me or love me.

Sometimes I love myself. Sometimes I hate myself.

There is literally nothing you can tell me that I don’t already know about myself.

It still doesn’t make it easier when someone tell you they just don’t like you.

When people tell me they don’t care what other people think about them I call BULL SHIT!

Everyone cares about what people think about them.  Period.

I care.

I care so much, that it hurts my soul when people don’t like me.

And believe me… there are A LOT of people who don’t like me.

That’s okay.

But it doesn’t change the fact that it HURTS.

I may seem like I have it together, but I know I don’t.  I’m just a clueless, 20-something, trying to navigate my way through my first job in New York City.  I’ve never expected anything to be given to me, and I still don’t.

I hate giving people the wrong impression of me.  But it happens.  It has happened.

I remember growing up as the awkward girl with glasses.  I can remember realizing at a young age that I was not going to make friends for my looks, so I got people’s attention by being loud, funny, quirky.

Myself.

I don’t know how to be anything but myself.  And sometimes myself is not someone that people want to be around.

When I was in middle school, I can recall a specific night where my mother let me lay in her arms and cry myself to sleep because I felt like I had no friends.  I wanted to fit in so terribly, that I became an ugly version of the girl I wanted to be. That night, Ro told what every mother should teach their children: If who you are is not someone people like, don’t apologize, just continue to find the people who love you for who you are.

I’m still that little, insecure girl, who just wants to be liked.

My biggest struggle, is learning how to balance my need to be liked, with maintaining who I am, fundamentally, as a person. I don’t expect everyone to like me, but you better fucking believe I’m going to make them TRY to like me!

Behind all the laughs, the smiles, the “I don’t give a fuck” attitude, I am a a bleeding heart.

After talking to both my dad and my mentor/life coach/amazing former boss, I made the decision to let go of the things I can’t control.  I can’t control how other people perceive me, I can only continue to try to be authentic and true to myself, and hope for the best.

Love,

Shannon Rose Allen and her bleeding heart.

“I can’t take it no more/this scratches on my soul.. Oh no/oh no/I’ll never go back there no more” -Grace Potter

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