first time for everything

I’ve put off writing this, because I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what I need to say.. I know that I have many thoughts that aren’t coming out right in my head and I can’t share them outloud because they only nod their heads in response. I knew a guy who committed suicide. I think about him everyday. Wonder if he knew me too. I cry when I think about people growing old. About my family members growing old while I’m away and then when I snap back to reality in 10years… they’ll be dead or no longer who I grew up with. I will have missed so much. I have missed so much. Don’t think I’ve been alive for… close to, well.. many, many years. I remember the year when I first started documenting my flood-like tears and poisonous thoughts. I don’t remember the day I first decided I had to die.. or why.. I just couldn’t keep being the ghost inside my own body. My family was perfect-looking, therefore so must I. My insides broke before I had the chance to begin again or fix anything. I didn’t know I needed to be fixed. All they did was punish me. I would get punished and serve my time, say my dues, and keeping every little horrid moment inside..move on to the next day. Where they would sure as hell find something else I did wrong. Punishments. Anger. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. When I was growing up, I knew wrong. I knew it, I knew how to do it, and it is all I know now. My memories are not repressed. They’re here. So are my ghosts. My ghosts are here. But why must I still be? Merry Xmas. He loves me. Follow the yellow brick road. XXOO Some days I wonder what’ll happen if he finds me. How he would react to seeing me as cold as my heart. I’m not here… I haven’t been for many, many moons. Night, the only time that matters when time itself is basically fucked. Love is all we have, but when the one you love doesn’t see how your ‘craziness’ is natural and just sits there and nods like the rest of them… what the hell are you supposed to do? Are my expectations really too far fetched??? Or am I with the wrong one? Wrong. I know that.. I’m obsessed with being a ghost. He calls me a psychopathic *****. I love my weird ways and he calls me a selfish child. I ran away from my life… for him. And he says I needed to anyways. ? The pain keeps me going. The sickening, numb pain. I move every day the same I have the day before. I’m not one of you. I keep telling him that. In my head. I’m not like him.. I’m not like them. I’m a ghost. XXOO