I get so emotional, baby

Let's take a trip back in time, friends. To a time when I had all the feelings and wrote grandiose, melodramatic things in journals between pages of French phrases and cookie recipes and notes on Impressionism and the European Union.

Eat all the feelings, Pusheen.

Here are a few snippets from my former Big, Fat Emo Life.


"My heart feels like tiny twigs snapping under footsteps: It's soft, but it still hurts."

"When am I ever going to live in a place that feels like home?"

"Heath Ledger died! Isn't that surreal?"

"How do I live out the impossible desires of my heart?"

"Sometimes I wish I didn't have a heart so I didn't have to feel."

"I need to shave my legs. They're hairy."

"If I didn't like affection, I'd be totally set for the rest of my life, and I'd be the most content single person ever."

"I want him to sing to me and play the guitar for me every minute of the day."

"If being in love helps me understand humans and human nature, then I guess for me it's worth it. But why is it worth it for other people? Happiness seems like a very selfish answer."

"You know, as much as I write about love, you'd think I was obsessed with it."

"I wish we could empty our brains out at night time the way Dumbledore empties his head of memories."

"I can't even cry over not being able to cry."

"I think I want to get married in Scotland someday. But not in a kilt or anything."

"I miss art."

"I need some fucking Cheetos and a slap in the face and someone to spoon me."