I love you like Kanye loves Kanye, with that kind of confidence where I know I’ve found something good. Where I’m not afraid to admit that what I have is love, that it may be boastful and it may be arrogant and it may be strange for other people to think that I could be so head over heels — but if you really believe something is true, does it matter what other people think? I love you in ways where I think I could risk anything, where love takes over in a heady sort of rush, where everything seems wild and clever and inventive in the moment. At least it does to me. Maybe that’s what they call passion.
I love you like Kanye loves Kim, in the way that doing really cheesy things just seems second nature now. Where if I can’t laugh at myself and how much I love you, then who can? Because maybe wild horses really wouldn’t be able to drag me away from you, and maybe I just don’t know how to express myself any other way. Because the endless ways in which I could say I loved you just don’t seem to suffice, and I have to rely on the cliché.
This is my mic-drop.@3 weeks ago with 5 notes #Thought Catalog #Kanye West #Humor #Valentine's Day
I had coffee with a friend the other day, and we were talking about my book, and about how I felt that something I’d kept so private for so long was now out in the open. She was surprised, because she thought I was always an open and outgoing sort of person — and I am, to an extent, but at the same time, it’s just really a selective sort of being open. I choose when I’ll lay it all out there. It’s weird, you know, to suddenly go from 0 to 60 in regards to talking about something you made a conscious decision to never, ever discuss, but it’s helpful in that it was something I really did need to talk about — but which I also needed to take my time to talk about. It just felt right to talk about it now, especially, not just because the issue has been gaining ground in the news lately, but just on a personal level. Like I needed to talk about it now. Like everything lined up and it was just… time.
The thing is, even though a bulk of my job involves writing about myself — though I suppose it doesn’t have to be, but I write best when I talk about what I know, and what I know most of all is my own life — there are still some things I keep to myself. There’s some things each of us keeps to ourselves, really, and it’s weird sometimes to realize that as a part of my job, I’m in some way creating a persona. I don’t mean to — if you read what I write, I sincerely hope you know that I am trying my very hardest to give you my most authentic self, but I can only do that in small pieces at a time. It’s probably a self-preservation thing. There are certain things I won’t talk about in my life (most notably, my love life) as they’re happening, because it just feels weird to do so. I don’t know. I have no qualms talking about exes once enough time has passed — or at least how I felt about the exes, or what I learned from them, because to keep them in my thoughts is to give them a half-life and neither of us deserve that sort of mental anguish, but I will always have what I felt and what I learned. Everyone always does.
I didn’t post about my book on my Facebook profile. is that weird? That’s weird. But it was one thing, I figured, to talk about it on Instagram, because it feels like the people I am friends with on there know me on a much more genuine level than Facebook. Facebook feels perfunctory, in a way. It always has. It is where acquaintances go to keep in touch; friends maybe seek out other avenues, ones that are updated more frequently, places where I can be much more myself. I told Tumblr about my eating disorder before I told anyone on Facebook — it took me years to admit there that I’d been in treatment.
I don’t know where I’m really going with this, as much as I just know that it would have been silly to write a piece for work talking about some things I don’t talk about. This just seems… I don’t know. More contained, maybe, even though this is by no means any less public. But it still does feel good to sort my thoughts out, even if this is a ramble. Even if this really isn’t going anywhere at all. A manifesto on all the sides to me that I don’t write about? What good does that do? Maybe I’m just reassuring myself that it’s okay to keep some things private. That maybe some things are meant to be kept alone, and that it’s okay to keep things close to your chest.
Maybe we’re all just really trying to feel like, even though we choose to deal with things on our own, we’re still not alone in that we’re dealing with them. That everyone has secrets, and by not asking and not telling, we’re still in this together. That we’re just protecting our collective private lives together.@3 weeks ago with 13 notes