Im so alone i have no friends at all not even online friends, ive had some online friends but that was a while ago. I cant remember the last time ive connected to anyone irl. I dont have very good social skills irl and im fucking shy as hell. Ive been in school since oct and have not made a single friend. I miss those 1 to 1 human interactions its so hard to go on everyday
I have done terrible things
Things to make you shiver in the dark
Things that make even my own skin crawl
I want them back, to take them away
I hurt others, so badly I cry
It wasn’t me! I scream
It was them! I can’t help it!
Please, you have to believe me
The things that lie in wait
To rip me apart
To make me rend and tear
As they watch
It’s the demons that lurk beneath the skin
The ones only freed by razors
Death is to begin again
They beg me to stay
I beg them to let me leave
I don’t want to hurt you anymore
I don’t want to make you bleed
No you must stay
You must endure
You must continue the hurt
No matter what
Do you like it?
Is that it? Do you like it you sick bastards?
To see me hurt
Or is it you that you like to see hurt?
I trusted you
You stabbed me in the back
I loved you
You loved me
Is this what it’s all come to?
Lovely red swirls
Going round and round
I can’t forgive you
You can’t forgive you
You can’t forgive me
I can’t forgive me either
Sometimes I wonder if it was all worth it
Then I think of the times we shared
All of the kinds words
All of the times you saved me
I met you in a dark place
I met you with scars
Scars on both of us
Now where are we?
Right back where we began?
Or is it worse?
Can this ever get better?
I have to believe it will
She still loves me
She needs me
The last bird in an almost empty nest
Why’d you make me choose?
We were happy!
Why’d you have to choose?
I thought we were happy!
How could it end this way?
Nobody said it’d end like this
In public they kiss
A trap has fallen
The boy nervous he might miss
His heart has been stolen
The boy falls in lust
The girl sees her chance
He gave her his trust
Her lies pierced his heart like a lance
They last all night
Increasing the danger
Happiness never ends
Demons come in all shapes and sizes
A lie so bold
The boy believes
A truth never told
Another girl greaves
He wants to leave
She begs him to stay
She can’t believe
It turned out this way
Are there any monsters?
In the closet?
Under my bed?
In my head?
They want me dead.
Am I bad?
Of course not.
Then why am I sad?
I don’t have an answer hon.
Well I’m all done.
Done with what?
The battle is over, the monsters won.
What do you mean?
They’ve already killed who I was.
There Was A Boy And A Girl
There was a boy and a girl. The two of them in a world that does not forgive mistakes. The boy had just come to this place, a place unlike any other. He knew not what to do, what was expected of him, he was ignorant.
The girl had been here for far too long, longer than the boy could ever imagine. She had learned long ago this place was strange and could not be compared to others.
The boy came here with scars covering him, too many to count and too many to see. He knew pain, oh he knew it well. It was like a mother’s love to him.
The girl hated the pain, saw it for the poison it was, the way it tore through her.
The boy had met her a few times, fleeting moments in time, but he remembered her when they met again.
She had noticed him too, saw him in a way that was deceiving, painting him in a light where the scars were no longer visible. Then she had stopped. Stopped what? She didn’t know, and she wasn’t meant to. They had gone their separate ways, found others to spend their times with.
The boy had been happy, almost euphoric in the way he felt.
The girl had been the happiest she’d known in a long time. This continued for a time, this happiness, but it shattered for them both at the same time.
The boy had realized the other was not happiness, but he fought for it, for he loved the pain. Even now he loved it.
The girl, had seen her other for what he was, and, hating the pain, left. She found a new other, an other that would never let her down, an other that made her happier than she’d ever been.
The boy continued on with his addiction to the pain. Enduring every time when it got particularly bad.
The girl was flying, and she was certain this could never end.
Seeing through the pain, through all the lies he’d told himself, the boy ran.
The girl had seen through this perfect prison. Seen the pain that lurked beneath the surface. She could not run, no. This is too much to run from.
The boy was free but he was not happy, no there was no more pain to infect him with, but he felt nothing with the pain gone. His other had robbed him of the pleasure of sensation.
The girl began to hurt again, she had traded places with the boy and was beginning to love the pain. To love the thing that tore through all the perfection and the lies.
The boy realized he was a fool for never knowing her before. He regretted every moment he’d spent doubting her. He wanted her, and it was bad
The girl however, was in no position to reciprocate what she may have once felt. She had to say no, even as they pressed their lips together.
The boy felt happy, felt he had done good. He was so wrong.
She was back in love with the pain again the very next day. She told herself it would be different this time, it would be better.
The boy lived in bitterness from her rejection. He did many foolish things out of spite to her.
The girl sent him off to fend for himself.
The boy went through many changes, even partaking in the pain occasionally. He never did fall in love with it again though.
One day the girl saw through all the lies again. It terrified her to see it all so clearly. She called upon the boy to help her. To please save her.
Knowing what he must do, the boy did his best to ease the pain and suffering. He tried to help. He had gained her favor and her forgiveness yet again.
She was not ready to leave the nurturing embrace of the poison however, and the new friendship almost failed in that time. It was obvious what they had now was different than before however and it survived through it.
The boy saw what was happening, and made a bold move. He intended to recreate what had happened before. The electricity of their lips touching, two souls alone in the dark.
She pushed him away. It was wrong of him to try to do this, especially now. She explained why.
Having ashamed himself once again, the boy returned to his home. The boy continued his friendship, although it was greatly strained.
After she had thrust the poison away from her she regretted it. She wanted it back, was begging for it to return to her.
The boy wouldn’t let her though, he just couldn’t. He tried to help and he failed. He only made things worse in the end.
She could not forgive him for what he had done. How dare he? How dare he play the part of a god in her life? What gave him that right?
The boy left her, but the friendship remained.
It was a beautiful midwestern night, the stars shining in the sky like they only do in the country. The weather outside is unpredictable, as it always is here. A night that almost shakes with opportunity. A poor boy shares the time with his best friend. This night she is working, but he’s there talking to her anyways. They chat as easily as they always have, but something’s different tonight.
I’m not sure she notices that so much has changed, the way I look at her, the way my heart’s beating off my chest just being near her. All the small things, oh Christ. Just look at the way she pushes her auburn hair out her eyes, I’d never noticed this before but this minor movement is almost graceful coming from her. The slight curve of her wrist as she pushes the rebel hair back where it belongs. She’s perfect, I think it a thousand times just in one minute. I can’t help but look at her lips, so damn kissable. Perfectly formed to tempt a man to do anything just to taste them. I snap out of these thoughts quickly, that’s not what I’m there for. I’m there because when I talk to her she saves me, that when she smiles at me I forget that I’ve felt the worst of human emotion, that her laugh makes me remember the good times, however few there may be. God, I think, How could you ever take this for granted? How could you not tell her every minute of every day that she’s beautiful? This continues for hours, playful, casual banter being exchanged while I marvel at her. I’m just happy I’m not drooling on the floor like a dog, the thought leaves as quickly as it comes. I ask for a ride home, and she graciously agrees. My heart begins to pound like in the old Poe story, I swear she must hear it. However she drives me to my home in relative silence. She parks out front and by now my heart is beating so hard I think I have a bruised rib cage. “Good night,” she says. I do the last thing she ever thought I would do, I take her head in my hands, and I kiss her. Holy fucking shit, she’s actually kissing me back. This is no kiss fueled by teenage angst, no this is tender, sweet, and I never want it to end. She sits there, stunned, “Wow,”
“Do you believe me now?”
“Yes, yes I do.”
I lean over and kiss her again. After this kiss she whispers in my ear, “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
“I’ve gotten myself into worse,” I reply. I step out of the car, trying my hardest to not let the biggest, most foolish, smile I’ve ever had show.
The boy sat alone in a dark room.
The world around him simply moved on.
The boy saw it happen, but he did not care to stop it
He had become a separate entity.
Something in the outside.
The outside was dismal, dark, crushing
He only returned there for the sick pleasure the pain gave him
He knew it was dangerous
He knew the risks
From the outside he watched home, and the world continuing without him
He saw it all and was almost content.
He saw it, hell, he looked down upon the world he once knew
But the part of him that belonged there.
It longed to be home.
The boy realized his mistake.
He was one of them
He did not belong outside
He could not survive
For outside was a poison
He saw what his time in this other place had done.
He was between the two worlds.
Neither held their original charm.
He had poisoned himself.
Eaten it like candy.
He hurt for a time.
His hurt came from the outside
He felt happiness
Happiness came from home
Could he still call that place home?
The boy felt as though he was beyond “home”
Not that it would take him back
He was kicked out
Like a problem child
For the warmth it once gave him scalded his skin
The light blinded his eyes
A lost child in worlds that did not forgive.
One day he met a friend
This friend was from the outside
The friend smiled at him
Lured him to the outside with the promise of a new home
This new home was a lie.
He was more torn than ever
He realized his friend was more demon than ally
He ran from the demon
He never truly escaped it
He returned to the in between
The boy of course met other travelers
He did not trust these strangers
And they did not trust him
For all the travelers had encountered them
And justly feared them
A cold and dark place
With only an unnatural brightness to show the way
For the boy it was a tower.
Others an asylum, a farm, a city, or an infinite number of things
It was the dividing
Point of the two worlds
An odd place for a nomad such as he
Perhaps he could have made it his home
But stability does not favor this boy
The tower, like all things do, collapsed
The boy returned to his old life as a traveler
The boy feared little anymore.
His life had become directionless
He feared only one thing
A life of solitude
He found another friend
This one much more persuasive
It told him to return to the place he still called home
The boy, suspicious yet weary agreed
He felt joy for the first time in years.
Perhaps he had truly returned
Scars remained from the demon, however
The boy realized he must leave, if only to spare his friend from a fate such as his
As he left his friend changed
Not to a demon
This friend was some horrible abomination
A joining of the two
It held him captive in home
And the scars shed blood once more
The boy, growing tired of his existence
Fought the abomination
The boy was horribly outmatched
Yet he won
For he fought with no regard for himself
Perhaps he would die
Death was too stable a fate for this boy
The boy walked on.
His only companion were the glowing footprints all travelers left behind them
This place was his lifeblood
Without it he would be dead
With it, he could not truly live
She knows not her true beauty, it astounds one to know that this magnificent beauty has no idea she is near angelic. Her skin a golden brown from long hours in the sun, her muscles toned from hours of exercise, soft auburn hair, and a face fit for a princess. This woman’s beauty permeates to the very depths of her soul, although few have ever seen it. A kind word from her is enough to intoxicate most men, and they often fall madly in love with her. Some men even revere her as a goddess
Yet she refuses to see beyond the scars she swears ruin her skin. She is right, however, these scars do exist, but they are on the inside. It’s a tragic scene. Her chasing the knife that gave her those scars. It’s as if she enjoys the pain it gives her. She thinks she is in control but she’s at the will of a real demon. She lives on a razor’s edge, and some days she leans towards heaven, others, hell. Very rarely does my muse achieve perfect balance.
This demon comes from the very depths of hell, a place where it is said even the devil dare not witness the atrocities committed there. This demon had once been human, but after its time in the pit it became the foul thing that infects the beautiful woman we see before us. It was not just tortured in that foul place, no, it was taught to torture as well, to inflict others with pain akin to its own.
The woman remains unaware of the intruder inside her. Ignorance is not her bliss, for as long as she does not know it inhabits her, it cannot be expelled. Her only salvation is to accept she has been possessed and expel the demon on her own. My efforts to help her have been fruitless, for the demon deafens her ears to my pleas.
As you may have guessed dear reader, I am in love with this beauty. She has captivated my heart in a way no other woman could. My thoughts always return to her, and many of my waking hours are spent contemplating how to attract her fancy. Now that she has been possessed however, I have noticed her losing weight at an alarming rate. She has also become more and more irritable and less sociable in this time. It saddens her suitors and I, for although this demon does not affect her outer appearance, it is rending a bloody path through the beauty her soul once held.
She loves the tranquility the water can provide her with. She is more at home on a beach than in any castle or estate. She has a love for the sea, yet the demon has poisoned even this. It makes my heart ache to see her in such pain. She can no longer find true happiness in anything she does, the demon has taken that from her.
I attempted to save her, begged the demon inside of her to strike a deal with me. It was a foolish move and now she has payed the price, for the demon did not appreciate my actions and apparently enjoyed its current home. Instead of leaving her it dug itself in deeper, rooting itself in the very base of her soul. As is did this it tore through her, wounding her worse than ever before. All I could do was watch in horror as the demon devours all she used to be.
Perhaps you expect a decent ending, and perhaps you deserve one. Sadly, I cannot give you one fit to sate your appetite. For this story has no end. It continues on even as I write this line.
She is beautiful. Oh she is not at her best at this moment, no. She wears no makeup on her face, her hair is simply pulled back in a sloppy ponytail, her nails with polish peeling off, and her outfit a menagerie of the most comfortable items in her wardrobe. Yet this woman is stunning. Her kind smile flashes quickly and easily, her hair still soft and flowing in the wind, her hands warm to the touch, and her clothing albeit unusual simply compliments her body. Her body tempts men, begging them to get up and do something, anything. The smile that lies only a moment away at any time lights up a man’s soul and makes him wonder how he ever survived without such a divine light in his life. Those hands warm men on the coldest of days, not only their bodies but to the very core of their existence. Her lips, oh God her lips. The are perfectly curved and a man almost regrets when they are hidden or forgotten by a smile. They look simply perfect to kiss, like they were made for that very purpose. Few have ever kissed those lips, for she does not give away such gifts freely, it must be earned, not taken. I know, for I have kissed those lips, felt them against mine. These kisses were nothing to laugh at, they were driven by an almost insane passion deep within me. Of course that was only once, and a long time ago at that. She is beautiful for all she is, more than just her body. The very soul of this woman is kind, nurturing, and radiant. If you need help she will be there. If you need a friend she will be one to you. If you need a word of comfort she will give you more than just one. She astounds me, her kindness continues although I have done terrible things. Things that keep me up each night. The kind of things that make one believe in monsters, not those that lurk in storybooks, no. The monsters that lurk in each and every one of us. Those are the ones I now believe in. They are not gentle, they do not care if it hurts, and they do not enjoy your pain. They hurt for no other reason than they can.
The Life Of A Lone Traveler
There is, and always has been two worlds, and in the centuries man has existed, very few have had the fortitude to walk them both. This is the story of one such traveler.
The boy was alone in his room, the lights off, and his shades drawn. He loved the intoxicating darkness. He knew that to be here was to be ready to go to the other place. This other place is only two steps away when he’s in this room. He took the first step.
The Outside was dark, but he knew it would be. He preferred the darkness; it left him feeling cold. There was also the force, an almost sentient thing that pressed in on him on all sides. The Pressure pushed down only hard enough to cause discomfort, for it did not want to cause its victims pain, no, it wanted to lull them into a false sense of security, like a poisoned lullaby. This almost dreadful pain had become his sick pleasure. He knew that one day this place would draw him in and he’d never be able to leave, but he continued his visits regardless.
In The Outside the boy thought up things that would make the average person’s blood run cold in their veins. At his tender age he became the deepest thinker of his time. His thoughts were colors in this other place. The boy loved the freedom this blank canvas left him. Instead of drawing upon a white slate this boy worked on a black surface to make it all the more vibrant. He became used to the cold of this other world and when he returned to Home he always felt feverish, even the coldest day in Home could not match the bone chilling cold of The Outside.
He saw the beauty of Home, for it was a warm place where even the most horrible of men were swaddled in the deep, nurturing, love of a mother. Home was also stunningly beautiful; almost no shadows existed there, a place that existed almost without fear, pain, hunger, or famine. The average boy felt immense joy in this, a joy akin to euphoria. Our boy instead felt disgust at such a weak place, a place where intelligence was greatly ignored and innocence was the norm, not the exception. He could not stand the naivety of it all.
He continued his visits to The Outside, drawing great masterpieces of thought while he was in the darkness and cold. He understood things that the “adults” of Home had been fighting over for as long as man had existed. He uncovered vast, hidden, secrets. Whatever god there is in that dank, cold, and lifeless place had obviously touched this young boy’s heart, and frozen it in his chest. Perhaps he could have been saved, if he had just waited longer between. Instead his visits increased in frequency and duration. Damning him to a fate worse than death.
One day the boy took the steps necessary to go to The Outside. He had just returned to his sanctuary after a day worse than most. His father had gotten that glint of rage in his eyes- the glint that only comes when he’s on one of his benders. He grabbed the boy and threw him into the nearest wall, causing dust to fall from the sheetrock. The boy had taken it, with no emotion in his eyes, which only infuriated his father to a point beyond measure. ¨What makes you think you’re better than me you worthless piece of shit!?¨ He had screamed. Even in his normally sobering rage, he had slurred his words. His father had slapped him and returned to his stupor. The boy went to The Outside, but today he felt none of its normal comfort. He only felt the true horror of this place, and for the first time questioned his motives for returning to this place. He no longer loved the Pressure, instead it terrified him in all its monstrosity. He knew he had to leave; this place had poisoned his heart, he had to go. NOW. He took the first step and almost took the second. He saw Home, in all its splendid glory, but he also saw all that was wrong with it. He looked behind him and saw The Outside, a stark contrast to the heavenly scene in front of him. He took a step.
This step took him directly to his left, for he knew that those two worlds were no longer his to walk. He looked behind him and almost screamed when he saw the glow. He looked closer and saw it was in the slightly deformed shape of his feet. He walked on, believing he was now ready for the surprises that awaited him.
He had been walking for a time, perhaps it had only been a minute, perhaps days. He had no way of knowing if it was day or night. The boy had originally been terrified, but had quickly realized that this place, a place he had begun to know as Inbetween, was outside of either worlds’ time. He simply dragged on, his only way of knowing that he’s progressing was seeing one foot go in front of the other. He had noticed the floor for the first time since he had begun to walk the endless plains of Inbetween, that the floor was a gritty, sand-like gray material that was displaced with each step he took. There had been times when he thought he had seen a huge figure in the distance. He quickly dismissed this as a hallucination from the exhaustion he must be feeling. It must be fake, he told himself, nothing but shapes made by my tired mind. Only, he didn’t feel tired, hell, he didn’t feel anything really. He ignored his momentary discomfort and kept walking ahead. One foot in front of the other.
After a great many steps the boy saw that the looming shape in the distance was growing, which disproved his earlier belief that it was simply a hallucination. He made it his landmark and he began trudge his way towards it. As he got closer he realized that what he had been seeing was a tower that kissed the sky of this desolate place. With each step he took he uncovered another secret. First that it seemed to go on forever, second it was made entirely out of a stone that is black as night, and third, that it looked as though it was nearing the end of its existence.
He arrived at the tower with growing anticipation, perhaps he would find someone to share his time with, or maybe a terrifying monster. Either way, he believed he was prepared to face what awaits him inside. Walking up the stone steps he noticed that none of the gritty material that makes up the ground of Inbetween had found its way onto the stone. He approached the great wooden door, a door so large it should have taken six men to push it open, but when the boy pressed upon its surface it swung open on well-oiled hinges as if it weighed no more than a feather.
The interior was dimly lit, the light seeming to come from nowhere. The stone was oppressing, making the boy feel true claustrophobia for the first time in his life. He enjoyed it, for it reminded him of The Outside before he had realized the pure poison that world is. The tower was not furnished, it only had small alcoves from time to time where one could rest. The boy felt the stone and it began to steal his heat almost before his skin ever touched it. He knew what this place was, he knew it was the anchor for the two worlds, a place that has certain characteristics of each of the two worlds. As soon as he entered the tower he had felt an almost loving embrace, not quite that of a parent, but that of maybe an uncle or aunt. He was weary of this place forever, he had learned his lesson since The Outside and had no ambition to repeat his previous mistake. The boy spent a time inside the tower, again there is no way to truly measure time Inbetween, but knew to leave once his heart grow cold.
Making his way away from the tower, and the footprints he had left behind, the boy contemplated the existence of such a place. He wondered silently if it could fall, surely not, if it fell the two worlds would surely be doomed to collapse under their own weight. He knew however, that the tower had seemed to be on its last legs, and worried for the future of the worlds regardless of whether he inhabited either any more. It never occurred to him, however, that the Inbetween would suffer as a result of a collapse as well.
It was many steps later when he met the other. He had been terrified out of his mind when he had seen their shapes, for he now knew to trust his eyes in this place. As they neared one another he saw it was a man and a child, this man was obviously not the father of the child, but looked at it with love akin to that of one. As they neared each other the boy cried out, “Hey, HEY! Are you real!?” The man appeared not to have heard the boy for a time, but the he replied, “Boy if you don’t shut your damn trap I’ll leave the kid here and throw you into the darkness of Oblivion.”
“Is that what you call it?” The boy questioned
“The dark place, Oblivion, I call it The Outside.”
“Humph, good enough name as any. Now get away from us and walk, do your best to forget us if you can, and if you can’t don’t look for us.”
The man and the child walked away, and the boy noticed that their footprints glowed a different color than that of his own.
That was, and remains to be his only encounter with other people in the Inbetween. He stood there looking in the direction of the slowly shrinking shapes, he did this until the were but mere specks on the horizon. He slowly turned around and continued his journey forward into the unknown. Never to see the man and child again.
After a few steps the boy broke down sobbing. He had no warning it was coming, but at the same time he knew it must, for how could one not cry after all he had been through? The pure injustice of what had happened to one so young burned through his veins. The tears he cried burned like acid. His throat hitched, trying to force up the pain that had encompassed him. He almost wished for his father’s beatings, anything would be preferable to the solitude of this place. He lost what he thought what was all of his innocence while he sobbed. He was wrong of course, there is always a little more innocence left to lose.
The boy decided to return to the tower. To him it was his only home, his only constant. He followed his footprints, and noticed that he had been lazily creating arcs in the gritty material, like he had been drunk. I’m just as bad as Dad ever was, he thought, and I’m not even drunk. Shaking his head, he moved forward, impatient to be at the only place he believed he could ever call home.
As he grew closer to where he believed the tower stood he noticed that he could not see the behemoth. He became worried, and for the first time since he had begun to walk, he ran. The boy ran as if his life depended on it, like all the hounds of hell were at nipping at his heels. With each stride he grew closer to knowing what he already believed, that the tower was no more, that some terrible force had finally collapsed it, like a child with their toys.
Arriving at the stone steps he saw a large shape, yes, but it was not that of a tower, it was that of a mountain of rubble. Rubble that seemed as black as night, and that stole heat from the bodies of young boys. His face burned with fury. The only place that could have become a home had crumbled while he was away. The dust entered in his nostrils, stinging them; he welcomed the pain as an escape for this hateful reality. His face felt the unfamiliar wetness of tears. He wanted to scream, but knew there was no sympathy, and no one who cares in this unforgiving land of Inbetween.
The boy stayed among the rubble for a time. He does not know what compelled him to stay, but he obeyed it regardless. While he was there his entire body seemed to get covered in the dust left from the now crushed stones of the tower. His tears had long since stopped, and the only mark that they were ever there was the muddy trails they had left on his young face.
I’m terrified, no idea where to go, what to do. I don’t want these people to think I’m some loser after only a few days here, and to avoid that I have to find a place to sit, and fast. I think. Hey, there’s that Sidney girl I could sit by, at least that’d be somebody. So I go to sit at the table that seems to be mostly girls. I take a seat next to a girl with dark hair, and I’m kind of in the middle of the table. When I sit down I see a few girls, one with dark hair that’s kind of pretty but is a little big. A girl with what’s that color hair called? I don’t know, but she’s pretty and has glasses. There’s Sidney, with her stick thin body, large glasses, and familiar face. Finally there’s a skinny girl in what I think are yoga pants, seems like she’s a dirty blonde, but who knows anymore?
It’s maybe a month later, and I’m with Maria at the football game. My heart’s beating out of my goddamn chest and I’m happy as I can be. It’s a cold and bitter October night, and that little bit of a bite is really starting to hurt. We went to the dance, and that electronic pop crap was playing. I paid my two bucks to get in, but nobody was there so Maria and I decided to leave, along with Cassidy and some other people. We go to the playground that I’ve been to at least a thousand time, the worn tires gleam in the moonlight, and the wood is as dull as always. We start playing a game, I can’t remember what it’s called, or what the rules are, but it’s fast paced and my breathing’s starting to get a little bit heavier. We all grow tired of this game and meet up at what I’ve always thought of as a boat in the middle of the playground. Somebody suggests we play truth or dare and of course we agree, it’s a high school classic. Sometime during the game the girl with the hair color I still don’t know the name of, and a guy that’s probably her boyfriend shows up. Their turn comes up and the guy picks her up and throws her over his shoulder. A twinge of something, jealousy maybe? Shoots through me, but it’s quickly forgotten.
Another day, another stupid argument. She accused me of looking at other girls, and she’s putting on a nice face while we sit next to Hannah and Cameron. I’m so sick of this, but I’m putting up with it. I don’t know why, but I am. I keep stealing glances at Hannah. Of course it’s wrong, and a little bit of me hates myself for it, but I do it anyways. She’s just so goddamned good looking, and I feel something in my chest. I ignore it, and barely register that it’s there. The meal goes on like normal, but something’s changed.
Ah shit, spilled a little bit of my drink in Hannah’s car. Hope that piece of trash I’m covering it up with is absorbent. Maria’s to my left, Cameron’s sitting in front of me, and Hannah’s driving. Goodwill was fun, I think, Haven’t had that much fun with other people in a long time. We’re on our way to this place, Plaza Mexico. I’ve never heard of it, but we’re going, and apparently it’s my birthday. When we got there, I saw it was a pretty nice place, the outside really is deceiving. I order this huge burrito, and who knows what Maria’s ordering. I keep stealing glances at Hannah, I’m not even aware I’m doing it anymore. God, she looks good tonight. We have some of the most natural, and easy coming conversations I’ve ever had. It’s a good day. I think to myself, with a dumb smile on my face.
We go to Wal Mart, like any good double dating teen should. I’m feeling like hell, why can’t they just shut up about how terrible of a boyfriend I am? The girls are going off on their own, and all the while I’m looking at Maria I’m noticing Hannah on the edges of my vision. I don’t know how, or why, but we end up by the cd’s and video games. I wander off, deciding to go to the bathroom for a bit. I need a break. Once I get in there, I notice that nobody else has decided to occupy the cold little room with me. I stand, looking in the mirror while the water runs. I’m such a terrible person, why can’t I be like Cameron, why can’t I make this stop? I go outside, hoping nobody sees me. I’m walking around the cd’s for a bit. Well, maybe I wasn’t walking around, maybe I was hiding from the others. The little bit of solitude I managed to build up is destroyed once Cameron finds me. He says he was worried about me, and I almost believe him. We leave the store, my little episode obviously put a damper on the night. On our way home I decide to tell them, I have to. “I’m depressed, and that’s why I disappeared on you guys in Wal Mart, I was feeling down and needed to be alone for a bit.”
“That’s okay,” Hannah says, and I forget what she said after. All I know is I felt a little less terrible for a bit.
What am I supposed to do? I ask myself. I’m sitting on the white couch upstairs, and I can’t stop thinking about how I broke up with Maria. All of the sudden I get a text from an unknown number. It says something about how there’s a rumor going around that Maria’s pregnant, and it’s mine. When I ask who it is all they say is, “I’m a friend.” I wear them down eventually though, and I find out it’s Hannah. Why would she help me? After Maria hit her all I did was say terrible things about her. All I know is that I have one more friend in this world.
I’m walking up to Shell, feeling awkward because of the earbuds, the t-shirt, and the fact I’m walking up Main Street. I’m a little worried, I don’t know what I’ll say when I see her, or what we’ll talk about, but I keep walking. When I get there I’m not greeted, I even crack a joke about the terrible customer service there. We talk for hours, way longer than I thought we would. I end up walking back home because her shift ends after my curfew. I feel a lot better about how I’m doing now.
God it’s hot, and these fucking flies. I’m sitting with Hannah next to me, she’s kind of smiling but something’s wrong. I can see it in the way the smile’s only skin deep. Cameron shows up. Of course he does, can’t leave his girlfriend alone for too long. She knows how I feel about her, and I’m trying to avoid the elephant in the room. We spend the entire day manning the table and the cash. Well, I did. They wandered off for a while, found out later that they had a huge fight.
I just spent maybe the last two hours sitting on the counter in Shell, talking to Hannah. She’s giving me a ride home, had an early closing time today. When we get to my house something happens. I don’t know what, and whoever or whatever does is much smarter than I’ll ever be. I lean over and kiss her, trying to remember that she doesn’t like full on makeout sessions. I hold her head in my hands, trying to make sure she will kiss me. She kisses me back, and Goddamn does it feel good. I kiss her a few times, I don’t remember how many, but not enough. Right before I leave the car she whispers, “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“I’ve gotten myself into worse.”
She’s coming to my house to pick me up. I think the feelings are all gone, and I’m surprised as all hell that she’s actually willing to see me after a few months of complete silence. I grabbed a second mountain dew for her, but apparently she’s quit pop. We end up at the park where this all began. It’s just the parking lot, but it brings back a lot of memories. Not all of them good. Sitting on the curb and talking feels good, ridiculously good. The feelings are back, of course they are. How’d I ever think they were gone?
It’s happened again, only this time she’s a few shades tanner and single. She’s coming over to pick me up, and we’re going to talk. When she gets there I see her little sister’s in the back seat. There’s barely enough time for me to buckle my seatbelt before we’re off, apparently we’re going to the “Blue Park.” When we get there, she sees Tatum and the next second we’re out of there. I don’t know where we go, or how many different places there are, but I do remember that we talked. We talked about all the old pains these places brought her, and I feel guilty for how badly I want to kiss her.
Hey you! Yeah you! Wanna know something before I continue on with this thing? You don’t? Well piss off, I’m doing it anyways. This is going to include more than just her, it’s going to be myself as well. Maybe a deviation from my usual style, but maybe that’s a good thing.
Her hair is pulled behind her hair in some sort of braid. It rests perfectly behind her neck and trails down the back of her blue shirt. She’s ignoring me right now, but that’s okay. At the moment she’s manning the register and she’s doing something that I’m confused just looking at. This menial task, something that no beauty or grace should be found in, has been turned into something of an art. Something perfected after being performed more times than one cares to count. It’s almost soothing to see her work, the way she’s totally comfortable in what she’s doing. Those eyes, usually so captivating, have been captivated by the bland task ahead of her, and I love it. Something in me snapped a long time ago, and now I see her here, just working, and it makes me happier than anything has in months. Maybe those clothes she is wearing are meant to be bland and unnoticeable, but when she wears them they become the single most beautiful articles of clothing this world has seen. They seem to compliment every slight curvature of her body. Their colors work with the natural tones of her own skin to create the beautiful picture I’m trying to depict. It’s not the clothes that make this change happen, it’s her. The simple aura she seems to exude, an almost palpable thing that can either lift your spirits, or break your heart. She raises you up when all others thought you were irretrievable, she makes a man contemplating taking his own life think about why life is still worth living, and most importantly, when she smiles, you smile. Sadly, or maybe luckily, she doesn’t realize that she can have this affect on others. Doesn’t seem to see what just her presence will do to lift the pressure off the backs of those around her.
When I see her, my heart beats faster in my chest, the world slows down a little. Then it happens. My head seizes, along with my muscles. I want to release that tension so damned bad that I’d nearly break my fingers to be rid of it. Yet I want to feel this every day for the rest of my life. I want to see that face I know so well every day, even if it brings on the worst agony I’ve ever known. I can’t tell you why I want her so bad. Maybe it’s something I control, maybe it’s something above any mere man. Either way, I am at the whim of my desires, and I’m trying desperately to fix what chances I once had. The chances I ruined when I became entranced with that smile, the way it seems to light up the room, no, the whole damn world. When I saw that hair pulled behind her head, her face perfectly visible to any available eye, I was a gonner. I’ve had dreams at night of being closer to her, just being able to talk to her like I once did. Maybe that’s all they’ll ever be, just dreams, but I can’t accept that. I can’t live with thinking that I really don’t have a chance. Not when she’s saved me from my lowest lows, and brought me to my highest highs. Not when we’ve shared our deepest secrets. Especially not when my heart still beats like it’s about to burst out of my chest when I think of the time we kissed. I can’t let go, and I just don’t want to.
I look at her through a veil. This veil does not impair my vision, instead it improves it. It improves it so that I may see every damned beautiful part of her there is. I lied, it does impede my vision. It keeps me from seeing all the imperfections, the flaws in her. Her soft hair cascading down her back, nothing restricting its movement. Those eyes, staring deeply into your soul, while somehow not looking at you at all. The way her lips made my entire body sing. How they made my mind forget all of the horrors I hold within myself. When they curl themselves into a smile that seems to light up the entire world, but most importantly, they light up what I call a soul. Nothing specific about that smile can be called perfect, every little thing, along with the imperfections, is what makes it into the beauteous thing it is. I swear to God she never wore a bad outfit. Every single thing I’ve seen her wear has complimented her completely. The way her hands seemed as though they could make all the pains, all the scars, all of the goddamned tears disappear. Being near her could make my soul stop its pitiful screaming and realize the true beauty of this life. the demons that lurked beneath the surface that anyone who didn’t know her would swear weren’t actually there. How they once tore her apart. Made her something like me. I’d love to be the one to banish those demons, to make all of the hurt and pain be gone from her life, even if it cost my own sanity. Thing is though, that what you’d love to see happen is so very rarely what happens. It’s the truth in this case, I can’t deny that. She still goes on feeling her pain, and I can’t do a damned thing about it.
Alas, it is over. there is no chance for redemption, not anymore. It is nothing that I have done, no great transgression or offense. We’ve simply grown apart, as is so common with people our age. It saddens me, God, it almost breaks me from the immense sorrow I feel at her loss. Maybe it was never meant to be, and maybe I once had a chance, but those times are far behind me. I cannot, or maybe will not, place the blame solely on her or myself. I recognize that this is not solely the fault of either of us, and that the blame could be spread between her, some outside, unrecognisable force, and myself. I will say, that for a time, I loved her. I felt something that I thought would never betray me. I thought it would last forever, but as the old cliche goes, “What goes up, must come down.”
I see you through some kind of film. Something that prevents me from seeing the imperfections that are there. The most simple answer would be that it is the naivety that has caught men better than myself. A more complicated answer would be that, through some mix of emotions, feelings, and history, I have become stuck on you. Not stuck in the way that the demons within me prefer, stuck in a way that is actually enjoyable. To write about you is one of the pleasures in my life, and I honestly couldn’t ask for a better muse. Perhaps it is the film that makes you so easy to write about, that puts the words I need within reach. I’ve been told my writing has improved as of late, and this was by a close friend of mine. I’ve decided to write about you again, and to do my best to capture your essence in written word.
Walking down the hallway, with your eyes clearly focused on what is before you. You don’t wish to see whatever demons may surround you at this moment, and your wish is granted. The haunting memories that every step seems to hold, the faces that evoke emotions better left forgotten. Scars from the past exist outside of your body and mind. They stand out like an ugly bruise on the world around you. You want to scream for it all to stop, to just make all of these things go away so you can exist in peace. Is there such a thing as peace for you? Is it even possible at this point? Those eyes, which have seen so much pain and hardship, captivate my attention. It’s so dumb to be captivated by such a fleeting moment in time, but I can’t resist. Your eyes go right past me, and that’s nothing more than what I expected. This glimpse inspires thoughts of times when the pain seemed to be banished from my mind, and the scars erased from my soul. Thoughts like these have started to fade from my mind as time goes on, and I struggle to hold onto the memory of the way your auburn hair looked in the summer sun, with the wind running its ethereal hands through it. And the way your face looks when there is nothing to light it but moonlight and the dim glow of a distant streetlight. The bruise that sometimes shows up on your throat for God knows what reason. Your voice singing a song I fell in love with because you introduced it to me. Skin that has not yet tanned to the golden brown you were when you returned from Florida. Lips I’ve described more times than I can count, and thought of almost every day since mine brushed against them. But I am a Beast. Nothing more than a shadow made to look like a man. All this Beast wishes is that you can be happy.
A Terrible Apology
She stands there, a broken heart. A lone soul stranded in a sea of emotion. Goddamn if she isn’t beautiful in it though. Her hair moves gracefully with the wind coming in off the lake. Normally she would have tied it behind her, but today such formalities seemed unnecessary. Her eyes seem as if they are on the verge of tears, but she is still beautiful. She is almost more beautiful for all the pain she is in. Her skin has tanned from hours in the sun, and her muscles have become toned from the hours she has spent sailing and maintaining her boat. The world has stopped itself around her, the sun embraces her and the wind lightly tugs upon her clothing. Her shadow extends itself behind her, much taller than her. The trees dance in unison as the autumn wind travels through them, a few leaves fall from their branches and lazily drift down to the unkempt grass. Lake water sparkles with a light similar to the one inside of her. Waves lap at the shore below her feet, bringing whatever treasure the current drags in to rest mere feet away from her. The smell of unpolluted water drifts its way towards her. This scene of pure beauty does not ease her pain, no, this moment carries with it memories of days past. Days that were happy, and filled with laughter. The pain had been forgotten in those days, hidden away, but never truly gone. She had found happiness and fought for it with every ounce of strength left in her body. Yet she could never have guessed what would come next, the fights, the screaming, the tears, and the lies. Oh she is not innocent, no, but she is sorry. Begging for forgiveness and wishing to atone she had truly been wounded. When she was at her most vulnerable, her most trusting she had been hurt. Even the one who thought he could help, who thought he could ease the pain, had only made this pain worse. For that he is a fool, and paid for it with loss of her favor. No apology may ever heal the wounds he caused, but he wishes to take it back, every mistake he ever made, every wrong word ever said.
It’s hard, nearly impossible, to describe the way one feels when they are with her. It cannot be grasped from a single emotion or moment in time, but comes from knowing her. How when you talk to her, you can be honest, but you cannot be ignorant. Or the little jokes and common things that always seem to be there. A humor with the occasional sadistic twist. Difficulty to make her smile, even in the best of times. Her insistence on making everyone wear a seatbelt in her car, no matter what the distance may be. Something that isn’t quite being cold, but isn’t any form of warmth. The way that little bruise in the center of her throat always comes back, persevering on for some unknown reason. Her hair auburn color, that is so very rare in this world. Sometimes you can almost put a word to it, something to describe this feeling from the basest, most instinctual, part of you. Then it’s gone. Maybe it’s preferable to never know, to never have a name for what that is. But maybe it’s better if you know, if you can say, “Yes, this is what I feel and nobody can take this away from me.” Pain comes with wanting her, for she will never return the feelings of devotion and caring you do. It’s a sad thing, it drags a blade of heartache through your mind. It’s impossible not to want her. It’s impossible to have her, and maybe that’s a damned shame. Maybe it’s for the better when all you are is a beast, a shadow in the form of a man. The only question is, whose happiness is more important?
A beast with a silver tongue
A heart of fool’s gold
A body covered in scars
A mind full of pain
Lies hidden behind pretty words
Pain hidden behind false smiles
These are what the beast lives with
The darkness questions
Where’s your strength
How dare you feel this way
What gives you the right
The darkness says he deserves it
Maybe he does
After what he has done
Does he deserve forgiveness
His soul cries out
Begs for the darkness to leave
Anything, as long as it will leave
The darkness only digs in deeper
Escape is all he wants
There is only one way
It is to lie down in a coffin
And that’s the way the beast likes it
I Don’t Know How Else To Say It
I can’t help but want to scream when the memories of this day flash through my mind, as if they were not memories, but annoyed spirits. They fly around inside of my head, touching every aspect of my mind, looking for the slightest excuse to gain control and make my life a living hell. They seem to be a sentient thing, a personality outside, and yet within, myself. Made specifically to destroy me, and gruesomely efficient at their work. Perhaps, if they truly are sentient, they enjoy their work, and that is where their almost deadly determination and efficiency originates from.
They hurt by reminding me of the moment where I crossed a line, it was no huge gesture or act, but simply taking for granted the privileges that had been given to me. One too many cutting remarks, normally forgotten, but now hold their place of infamy in my mind, sitting upon their dark pedestal. It could be argued that I have no reason to feel the shame and pain I do upon remembering this, but the objections are futile when the thoughts take control of me. I hope against this sea of hopelessness and darkness that my apologies and attempts at solving the issue are successful. Perhaps this hope is simply naievity within myself, a traitorous part of a mind already taught to misbehave. These feelings are amplified to the recentness of the events, along with the loss of what may have once been a budding friendship.
Wars behind the eyes that stare out so passively, so seemingly innocent. These have always been there, and took place in my mind before today’s events were even a possibility. Like any war, the causes are varied and diverse, but some can be seen through the murky waters of my troubled mind; heartache, caused by one too many lost loves, rapidly decreasing self-esteem, derived from a misunderstanding and misinterpretation of the norm, and doubt from all of my past failures and misadventures. Questions nobody should have to contemplate on such a consistent basis fly through my mind more times than I care to admit, or count. “Do I feel for her, or is it simply a lie from my treacherous heart? Does it matter if I want to live, as long I am alive? Do I truly stand alone in this unforgiving world?”
Is it you?
Is it me?
Is it some god?
Or is it simply the fault of chaos?
What is responsible for this?
This pain one feels on dark nights
Pain that seems to bite
To gnaw on tender hearts
Stabbing at your sanity
Destroying the foundation of your own mind
Replacing deep-rooted certainty with doubt
Decaying your values
Is this pain knowing?
Knowing of how it hurts
If so, does it take pleasure in it?
Or does it perform its duties accidentally?
Is that why songs are sung by razors?
Songs performed in secret
Does it not wish death of anything but itself?
Are we simply victims in its own internal conflict?
Answers are too far away to grasp
Yet close enough to see
Questions, or Answers?
Which hurts the most?
He stands there with his eyes looking out at the world. His hair moves as the wind runs its ethereal body through it, causing an eye to be covered. To rid himself of this minor annoyance he raises his hand to brush it away, an act that has become a common occurrence in the recent weeks. As his hand moves the rebel hairs we gain a glimpse of his eyes, green, bright, and intelligent as they look out upon the world around him. We take our time in studying his face, the slight stubble on his chin, scars and pockmarks from years of being plagued with acne. Some of these marks are hidden by the freckles that have adorned his face for years. His nose has not escaped these freckles and scars, and is possibly the most insignificant part of his face to be seen. A jawline is hidden by some of the excess that comes with youth, but each day it grows smaller and the haggard look is more apparent. The short, slender, frame that he will most likely have for the rest of his life does nothing to alleviate the look of age upon this young man. It adds to the effect, giving him a look that many attribute to frailty and not a tendency to be lean. The clothes that hang off of him in some places are a pair of well-worn jeans with worn-out knees, a sweatshirt that has seen one too many days without a wash, and a t-shirt that he grabbed at random while preparing in the morning. The sleeves of the sweatshirt are rolled up for some unknown reason revealing the mark that has set him apart his entire life, nothing entirely unique or special, simply a rather large birthmark on his left forearm. The skin on the inside of his forearms is not tainted by the troubles he has seen in his life, which is all too common with those that have afflictions similar to his own. A light scar, already fading, can be found further up, on his left bicep. We return to his face and see a scar that’s existence is sometimes forgotten, and other times all too obvious, it resides just above his lips and is thankfully short in length.
Eyes that one could get lost in for hours, they bring warmth to any that look in them, regardless of the glasses she wears. The hazel color comforts you as you drink in her beauty, letting you be somebody that you thought was long gone. Her long, dark hair is manipulated so that it doesn’t interrupt the vision before us, but it is beautiful in its own right. Long and dark, it cascades down her back and moves gracefully with each slight movement of her body. She is tall, which one grows to appreciate, for it gives the eye more to drink in. The eye sees her, sees the slight perfections that are too quickly forgotten. It seems as though one could never get enough of looking at this beauty, for it is as close to perfection as one can get, and it shames one to think their eye had ever found another quite so beautiful. The face we see before us is a mere glimpse of the beauty that lies within her. Sadly, this beauty is hidden, smothered, by one who is so arrogant to believe he has the right to hide this away from the world, this work of art. Liberation from this veil, this prison, is only possible if the beauty wishes to. Nonetheless, eyes are seemingly forced to focus upon lips that attract attention regardless of any number of distractions, and one finds themselves contemplating how it would feel to press their own unworthy lips against them. The rough texture of your lips pressed against hers, the way it would feel like you were desecrating some sacred shrine, or piece of untouched and untainted land, but the feeling the desecration would be worth the unexplainable and inescapable happiness you would feel. The voice and words that flow from those lips bring a smile to your face because they are often kind. What truly amazes one is when her laugh escapes from those lips, escaping like prisoners that had been kept in confinement for far too long.
The Chronicles of Sammi
She sits in this place of learning, this place where the future is built. Her brown hair falls in a veil, encapsulating her head. Those piercing, blue eyes are unfocused from all the boredom. It’s necessary to be here, she needs to be here, but this does not grab her mind, does not exercise her mental machine. Clad in blue she sits, her long frame is still visible regardless of the baggy material, but her slim body is hidden from sight. The eyes wish to devour this scene, to take away those atrocious excuses for clothing and see her in the clothes she feels most comfortable in. It is not the eye that wishes to remove any ore than those, however, and one must make a conscious effort to keep from doing what its instincts so scream for it to do. Her body screams for it as well, maybe it is not recognizable in her mind, but her body seems to call for attention. What captures the attention the most, and what demands the friction of contact most is those lips. She wears no makeup upon them right now, she had found no reason, but their natural pink color begs to be pressed against lips belonging to that of another. Their fullness, their shape, and some undefinable, unseen force captures you. Once you are captured, there is no escape from that prison. Perhaps the best, and worst, part of the prison is that those within don’t wish to escape, only to continue to dwell in its walls in order to view her beauty as much as possible
Sammi’s sitting there, on a beat down old couch she got from God knows where. Her phone is in her hands, illuminating her face. The eyes that have captivated so many are lit up like never before. The light of the living is replaced by the artificial look of the phones light. The dog is curled up against her leg, new life growing inside of it. Her brown locks are pulled away from her eyes because how else could she enjoy Instagram properly? The normally long, slender body is hidden away for the moment, something about that couch, and the way she’s sitting steals her height. Those long, sensual legs are pulled up against her breasts, Thank God they aren’t huge, she thinks. She is warm right now, but she has felt the beginnings of winter and is preparing herself against it. Those lips, so damned kissable and beautiful are being ignored by everyone besides myself. They catch the eyes, and awaken something I thought was long dead.
She flops down on the bed, too tired to even think her normal, fuck today, fuck work, fuck everything except me. Her bright blue eyes are happy to be hidden away from the world, for more their own sake than anyone else’s. Of course there are other beautiful things to look at on my muse. The eyes trace her body up and down, of course focusing on a few places. The slight swell of her breasts beneath some random band t shirt, her long legs in those jeans. She looks so small when she’s on the bed, her slim body being devoured by the covers and sheets around her. If we gave her more time we might come back to her wrapped up in them, her face only exposed so she can still breathe. But for right now we still get to see her, her brown hair fanning out across the bed because fuck actually trying to style it. A smile is on her lips, but she doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s from the fact that here she is, when nobody, including herself, ever thought she could make it here. Either way, I am thankful I can see that lovely smile.
She has not always looked this way, no. Once upon a time she was an innocent little girl hugging a stuffed animal as she fell asleep. So what happened to her to bring her to this soul we see before us? What made her lose that sparkle in that little girl’s eyes? The trials and tribulations she has been through stole away the little innocence she had left, even after she lost the naivety all children are born with. The innocence was stolen by all the little lies told to her by others, and even the ones told by herself. It was stolen by all the dreams of kissing razors. Of letting all the demons that plagued her escape her from cuts made by a shaky hand. Innocence was stolen by her one-time lover, a man she thought she could trust with everything, including her future. For a time his loss crushed her, but one day, she saw it for what it was. Not a loss, but an opportunity. An opportunity to lead a better life. The author would like to apologize for not know more about what happened in between then and now, but his muse is tired tonight. She slumbers now, all the cares of daily life are gone. Her face is relaxed, and it is one of the few times one will ever see it this way. Tonight no ghosts haunt her dreams and she sleeps peacefully. Her tall figure is laid out upon the bed, her hair is in a halo around her head. Whether she is an angel, or the future ruler of hell is yet to be decided, but seeing her hair this way makes her more desirable somehow. To see her when she is not trying to impress anybody, including herself, shows you her true beauty. It brings men and women alike to regret when she must cover this naked beauty with what this world and her own mind say she must wear upon her face. Her startling blue eyes, normally so piercing it seems as though they look through any man looking to capture her attention are closed, and the eyes that look upon her at this moment are sad to see them hidden.
Yeah I’m pissed. Why even bother? Why play ganes? I haven’t seen him in a full month and I know I’ll never see him again. He actually messages me asking to come over. Then last minute says he can’t because the other car he had access to died too. Says he had a ride. So why couldn’t the ride have dropped you off here? If you can rent a car you can catch the bus, right? Hasn’t talked to me any more. Just leave me alone then. You got what you fucking wanted. You got rid of the person who cares most about you. Yes I’m fucking pissed.
Earlier in the day, my counselor mentioned something about “learned optimism” which I don’t comprehend. I don’t think being optimistic will benefit me when it is counterproductive to my desire. The thing I desire the most is sleep that will last forever; simply because I find living to be too troublesome. So, what reason is there for a man who cares not of human desires nor of universal events to breathe? In a world that shuns inactivity, happiness is only a delusion for people like me. I pray there is no one like me in the whole, entire world since this is a fate far worse than any Hell. Unfortunately, I’m sure I’m not the only one like this. The sad reality is as long as we are unable to find something we want to live for… An eternal escape is our only way to happiness. As for me, I’ve searched for something I want to live for yet never found the answer… Be it love, family, fame, riches, pleasure, what have you, all of them are not the answer I’m looking for.
I’m really triggered at the moment… I haven’t cut myself in like 2 months, but that’s only because I’m scared about having to tell one of my best friends… I’m still scared of that, but I know that keeping it a secret from her would be worse.. I’m scared that it would trigger her again too and I’m scared for her reaction… Not because I think that she’d get mad at me, but because I think that she wouldn’t care anymore and that would hurt so freaking much… I’m also scared of keeping it a secret from my soon to be psychologist… I wouldn’t tell her that I cut again, because she would tell my freaking parents and no they can’t know! I want to cut just enough that I can still hide the wounds with my bracelent I always wear so people don’t suspect anything.. I’m just done…
And besides, who cares if I cut myself today when I hope to/will kill myself next week 🙁 It just doesn’t matter anymore…
P.S Sorry if this triggered you, darling…
I’m an atheist but sometimes I have to wonder, there must be a reason for all this shit I’ve/we’ve been put through, surely the universe and life isn’t all just a chance event and yet that’s what makes most sense, certainly compared to what any religion has to offer.
Conceived in a moment of lust, never asked to be born, don’t ask to be alive now, yet here I am, living and breathing, for what bloody reason. The people in this world create and destroy in equal measure, all the good there is, there seems to be an equal amount of evil to balance it all out, it’s mad. Do I really need to be here, do I really need to experience all this shit, and if I say no I want out then I’m considered mad and if I try and do something about it then I’m deranged and need locking up.
I struggle to find energy, I struggle to get myself to get out of bed each day, I struggle to see what the point is. I want to shout out about how I feel but, in the real world, I’d be considered insane. Thank goodness for SP and like minded individuals.
I need to know how many sleeping pills it takes to get knocked out, but not die. I need to see who cares. And don’t you DARE call me an attention whore. Its just my life is falling to pieces before my eyes. I can’t take it.
Why am I always on the computer?
Why do I never do anything else in real life?
I don’t have any friends in real life, MOM. I don’t see anyone in real life who has anything in common with me. What’s that? You think I won’t learn any social skills from online school? I’ve learned more social skills online than I have in real life. I have friends online who care about me. I only feel normal online because I’m one of many there, whereas, in real life, I’m all on my own.
I haven’t met anyone who’s transgender. I haven’t met anyone with autism. I don’t see anyone my age who cares about children’s cartoons anymore. Most people my age have just moved on to shows like Family Guy and The Simpsons. Not to mention I have to sit through sex jokes for 7 hours a day. Thank god for Summer.
The internet is my only friend, since I have no one in real life to care about me. But then my computer went. Now it’s broken. Now I’m stuck with an iPad my mom gave me. Isn’t that sweet? No, it’s not. She tosssed her iPad 1 (which is sucky as hell) on me so she could move to a better device. So now I’m super restricted from the internet.
You think this will help me find some time in real life to hang out with people in real life? No. I only have my sisters to care about me and there’s been nothing to do, since they don’t listen to me on what we want to do during Summer, so I have to sit through car rides that make me feel emotionally sick.
And as I start getting restricted from my only friends on the internet, I begin feeling farther and farther from happiness, as I constantly grow suicide thoughts every day. I want to simply take a pill and go to sleep, just never to wake up. Maybe people in this world will be more happy without me.
Maybe I’m just too sensitive. I don’t want to be a part of them anymore. Is it my fault or is it yours. Stop being so sarcastic.
Stop. It makes me hate myself. It makes me hate everyone. But what do I know about hate.
I just know that I slowly don’t like going out with people. Don’t like people anymore. Don’t wanna hangout with people. Don’t wanna be social with people. Cause everything I’m doing has a sarcastic rebuttal. Oh well.
Swallow it. And pride down. Who cares about me anyways. Stop being so whiny.
The world is an ugly place. Ugly ugly place. Oh well.
Hi my name is niecy I’ve struggled with depression ever since I was 14 but was not diagnosed until I was 15 I have struggled with depression and let alone bipolar disorder for a long time I’ve struggled with mental anguish its been a long struggle I need help and I’m getting help but I can no longer hide how I feel I think about dying sometimes and sometimes I feel I’m alone ever since highschool I was alone I didn’t have many friends and I still don’t but who cares in this world I guess the loners are here to not make friends I guess we are just passing through that’s sucks a little bit but anyways I feel heavy at times I guessed I never gave myself time to heal in the past all these ugly emotions of unworthyness, loneliness, rejection, and depression reared its ugly head, I really do hope that God has not forgotten about me because if he did then I’m doomed that means I have been doomed since birth, I feel like I have no friend eventhough I have my own house food clothes and you guess what is you so depressed about well try talking to God and he has not answered most of your prayers try praying and you just feel empty try going to church and you just don’t fit, blah blah you might say I’m complaining but I know how I feel on the inside I can’t even keep a boyfriend as pretty as I am they only want to use you for their waste bucket. I just feel different once again depression has reared its ugly head right along with its friend bipolar
Is there even anybody who reads this? Or maybe we’re all just self indulgent in our misery :/
Anyway here I am, this is new. I feel silly. My boyfriend abuses me. Mostly emotionally but sometimes physically. It’s not stopping.
Tbh I must be really unlucky or been a dictator in my past life. I was adopted because my parents were too young and too high on some kind of drug, I don’t know which they never told me. Unfortunately my adopted parents weren’t…great? Well my mum mainly, but I blame my dad more because he knew she was hurting me but ignored it.
So I guess I was always going to be messed up in some form. I moved out at sixteen.
Ive had shit relationships, who hasn’t? But now I’m in this one and I think I’m trapped. I have no family. I’ve alienated my friends. He is all I have. We live together. I don’t know what to do. There goes the ‘I feel pathetic’ feeling. I should leave him but then I think I deserve it because who else goes through that much shit in their life? I must have done something bad.
I haven’t self harmed in years. I’m quite proud of that. Lately it’s getting harder to resist though.
Lately it’s getting harder to hope things will get better.
I have a good life most would say,a family who cares about me, friends, we’re not rich but we have a good life…and yet, everyday when I go out to live the same routine over and over again, I wish that something bad happens to me, a car accident, a robbery going wrong, being struck by thunder…I don’t know, I don’t want to live anymore, I just…can’t, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, why I feel so unhappy when everyone says that I should be fine, and at the same time I’m too coward to take out my own life, I keep thinking about the people I care, they are enough to prevent me from taking out my own life, but at the same time they’re not enough to make me want to live, I’m trying to push then back, to make then give up on me, I keep thinking that if something “natural” happens to me, they will suffer less, and I will be free.
I didn’t even care who would get to be the driver on our new car tonight. Of course I would’ve loved to drive, so – without thinking about it – I took the offer to gamble about it. *sarcasm on* Just by empirical observation of past gambles I should have known that against all odds I somehow manage to lose every single time. *sarcasm off* After my one sister won the first round to drive on the first way, my other sister and me should have gambled about the way back from the restaurant, but I refused. That wasn’t the best choice obviously, but in that moment I was pretty frustrated. Anyways, I probably would have let them drive if we would have talked it out, but it never came to that; my dad who apparently loves to take shots at me for several reasons took my sisters’ side and with a grin on his face told me how inconsequential I was, that my only aim was to drive myself and not find a fair solution for everyone. I should have known beforehand that gambling can never result in a fair outcome and that was my part of the misery tonight and I regret it. But the way my dad used this incident to attack me with such self-righteous pleasure just proves how little this has to do with the actual driving.
Sadly I lost the respect for my dad and mom some time ago, as much as I lost respect for most human beings on earth. I still treat people respectfully because that is the right thing to do, but deep inside I am just frustrated and angry with most people I meet. I could have argued with him about how randomness is never just, about how using this incident to attack me is just another expression of the view he has on me which would have ultimately resulted in more hatred and frustration; since that really wasn’t an option I stayed silent for the rest of the night just eating my dinner and waiting to get home. Still, more issues came up that I wasn’t even part of and the situation ended up with everyone being frustrated and the evening ruined.
Whatever, I could say, who cares? Just one night, no reason to suicide. But it’s not about this single incident, it’s about the way I am seen by my family, which I tend to forget due to family love. Yes, I love them, because love is fucking irational. But if I try to forget these feelings and look at the issue unemotionally I see how I am just the useless middle child who is unsuccessful in almost everything he is expected to do due to the simple fact that he is an awkward introvert. Ever thought about your responsibility in this, hm? Why do you love my brother and sisters so much more who go meet their hundreds of friends every weekend, who all have a girlfriend or boyfriend, who shine a good light on our family in public, who represent this stupid ideal our society has of the perfect human being? It’s pointless to argue with you about this, I’ve tried so many times and everytime you call me aggressive for trying to point out the obvious to you. I am not what society wants me to be, and that’s a big stain on your CV. You just cant accept that people can live differently from what you or others want them to live like. I could have grown up to be a happy child if you hadn’t always tried to change me into something I am not. I still hope that one day you will realize this.
There is always someone in this world who cares about you..
Just because you don’t think there is doesn’t mean your correct..
I know that I have no idea who you are or what you look like but I CARE!
If I didn’t care then I wouldn’t be here..
I know what you’re going through I have scars running up and down my arm..
I feel so lonely sometimes and I cry myself to sleep almost every night..
I really do know how you feel I promise..
You’re so beautiful/handsome inside and out
I love you
You don’t deserve to end everything like this you deserve much better!
I may cut but I’ll never end it thats a promise
In the comments below please promise me and write your name.. If you can’t promise atleast just write your name!
I love ya’ll
Don’t you forget it..
Message me if you feel like you’re so broke that you just want to end it..
Pray extra hard my beautiful people..
I will try to heal you one by one, I’ll help because I care!
Stay beautiful love ya
My mom isn’t happy with it but I haven’t heard from him in months, so.. Who cares?
Yesterday, I completely lost hope. I needed to die. Like right now. I was choking because of my tears. My bestfriend – and the guy I’m in love with – didn’t want me to talk to him anymore. Because everything was my fault. Because it was my fault that I fell in love with him. Because it was my fault that everyone has noticed it.
I can’t live without him. Even the weird relationship we’re having was much sufficient for me to hold on. But him cutting me out of his life was too much for me to handle.
I scarred myself. But I didn’t bleed to death as intended. I’m too scared. But I know there’s no other plausible solution. I’m not wanted. I’m rejected by my bestfriend.
I have many scars now, mainly on my wrists, but also on my elbows and forearms. It seems to me that my veins wouldn’t just explode. I can’t endure the pain of slicing my arms. But superficial veins won’t just do it.
And people are noticing by now. They see the perfectly neat scars. They know they are not caused by a cat’s scratch or anything likewise. And they pity me. But I’m sick of seeing the pity in their eyes. I just need a friend who cares. I just need my bestfriend to act like one.
But who would befriend a girl who cuts herself?
Its like who cares ‘who’ you are, how much money you make, how much you impress other people at the end of our existence what does it all matter anyway. Who cares if you indulge in certain unhealthy activities, life is short just find pleasure where you can cos ultimately there is no point to this existence there is just what nature dictates to us all: survival and reproduction to continue the species.
So don’t take life too seriously, all the people out there whom you worry about what they think of you will die in the end just like you so why stress over what they think?
Easier said than done though.
Theres no way out.. I just want to cut until my veins have no more blood to let out.. I want to stand on that chair and end it.. Who cares if anyone misses me.. I want it to be over. The pain, the suffering.. I’m crying just writing this. This maybe my last post.. I need it to end. I need a way out of this. Life isn’t worth living anymore. It never was worth it. I can’t think of the last time I was actually happy.. What is being happy feel like? Because I don’t know anymore.. So this is it.. goodbye
I’m not really sure how to begin this, or I guess, really, how to say any of this.
My name is John, and my middle name is Ira. I’m 25 years old, and I feel utterly hopeless. I just stayed up all night, debating whether or not I would have the balls to do it. Now it is Saturday morning, and I am a fucking COWARD. I’ve never felt as sad, or alone or I fucking hate to admit this, misunderstood in my whole entire life.
I guess if worst comes to worst, there’s a secret, ashamed part of me that wants someone, anyone, I cared about, or who reciprocated that care for me, to see this. Or to be able to see this, if anyone chose to look for answers.
I am, as I type this, very tired, it is right now Saturday morning, and I have not slept since I woke up Friday morning, so I doubt I have the presence of mind or the strength of will or discipline to tell my whole story here.
Just typing “to type my whole story” makes me feel literally ill in a way I can’t describe, except for shame for some feeling of importance in someone’s life.
I’ll go back as far and briefly as I can. For me it all really started around 13 or 14 when my parents divorced. Forced into a deeper level of poverty than I had become accustomed to, I watched my mother struggle to cope to raise my brother and I, who are 13 months apart. So I’ve felt like a burden since then I guess. After a string of new “dad”s, one, we called him Stauch, beat her so badly that I still have nightmares about it. He was actually MY (and Mom’s, I believe, looking back) favorite boyfriend of my Mother’s. Terrible alcoholic, and blatant about it, but always very nice to us. More importantly, to her. One night I came home late for my Mom’s curfew to find our home ransacked as if we’d been robbed. Little porcelain figurines of Native Americans smashed everywhere, dishes, glass cups, all shrapnel all throughout the house. Back and front doors wide open, and I heard HIS two dogs barking about the neighborhood. I saw him first. Stumbling down the street, crying, falling down drunk. He said it RIGHT to my fucking face what he did. “I couldn’t hurt her like she hurt me, so I had to hurt her somehow, Your Mom’s a whore, she deserved it, ect.” Then and there he could have payed, but I froze. I was 14, but I’d been trained and conditioned my whole life to operate under just such extreme circumstances. More on that soon. After I saw him, I saw her. On the shoulders of a family friend, and Training Brother. He forced Stauch away with threats of police, and we carried my Mom inside. Her whole face was drooping. The bone was no longer holding the muscle. My most vivid memory is of her crawling to the bathroom (she would not let me carry her after the stairs) and vomiting up blood and teeth. 3 hours for any medical/police help to arrive, I sat with her and held her hair as she wretched. He walked free, ultimately, after a lengthy trial, and then an even lengthier series of PFA hearings, just a fine and AA, which he never finished. Until the PFA was filed he was harassing us, driving his car into our garbage on the street, breaking our front window, parking his car outside her work.
My point for this is, I still have nightmares about it. I still see her puking her teeth up. And the various phases of recunstructive surgery. If I had just come fucking home on time, I could have stopped him. At age 14 I was a second-degree black belt in White Dragon Shaolin and Northern Eagle Claw Kung Fu, Ying Jow Pai is the Chinese name. I actually was the youngest and hardest trained black belt for my age group in the history of my Master’s schools. I could have killed him.
He told me to my FACE what he did, I froze. In court, MY testimony could have put him away, but I again just couldn’t face it.
To this day, I stay awake for days on end to avoid hearing the fucking click clack of her teeth in that bowl.
Not just her face, but morphing into the faces of those I’ve loved and lost since then.
This is all only one facet, and why I’m right now so tired. I am so, so tired. And I am so, so sad.
Since then life has been a blur. Drugs, sex, friends, the general badass rock and roll outlaw lifestyle.
Best times of my life actually. I’ve taken almost every drug to its absolute limit with no adverse affects save withdrawal from alcohol at age 16 and nicotine at various times throughout. I’ve done extensive “physical” research into all drugs of addiction, in all manners of administration, with no recourse like withdrawal from opiates or even phsycological withdrawal from cocaine, which I attribute my mental Martial Arts training to. Ironic, I see that.
The past few years, since 2012 have been the worst. I ended a 3 year relationship with one of the best girls I’d ever known, and simultaneously ended my best friendship ever, with my friend. His girlfriend of almost 10 years and I had professed our love the whole time to each other, suddenly, then BAM, my relationship was over. It was on its way out anyway, would have happened regardless. My girlfriend and my best friend’s girlfriend were best friends. We were a best friend foursome. Like I said, I ended mine, she didn’t. I essentially lost three of the best human beings I have ever known in one span of 24 hours, forever.
Several attempts have been made for reconciliation. After that, it was a year long spiral of the most intense drug abuse with heroin, cocaine, ANY and ALL hallucinogens, Beuponorphine, and all other “hard” drugs, still with no adverse withdrawal symptoms, after MONTHS of daily, intense use. In March of ’13 I moved to my Dad’s in Philly and turned my life around.
WHOLE new Human. It was just around the end of the previous summer when everything began to die inside me again, in spite of everything going amazing. I had the BEST job I ever had, best pay, doing shit I learned to love, forklift ops, I had just accquired my first car and was about to move into my first home in the ‘burbs of Norristown, when I realized doing so might mean a lonely life filled only with work and an empty apartment. My WHOLE LIFE had been back home (Wilkes-Barre, PA) everyone I ever knew, but also everything I THOUGHT I wanted to get away from. This feeling of intense emptiness continued and led me into the badlands of inner city philly for debauchery I had not partaken in in almost a year.
I am VERY tireed, now. Basically, this feeling continued, until the beginning of 14, in January, when I reconnected with an old friend from back home. She and I began talking through Fakebook, and then texting. It was like, BOOM. We had never actually hung out in the past, but had mad mutual friends and always saw/ran into each other. I fell for her instantly. And fucking HARD.
Like NOTHING before, ever. Needless to say, of course, she promptly broke my heart to peices after I drove home one weekend through a snowstorm on the highway to see her. She fucked me for a weekend then I went back to philly for work. I guess she got what she wanted, then BAM. In a matter of two weeks, back to strangers. I HATE admitting this, but that REALLY fucked me up.
Around this time, an ice storm hit Montgomery county in -20 degree cold. Which led to a STUPID argument with my Father, who I’ve had immense tension with since the divorce, which exploded into a bridge burning fight at work via text.
The argument started at 1pm, he had the locks changed, in our apartment building by 430. In complete darkness and FREEZING cold, he changed those locks in less than 4 hours.
After this, I was in my car for about 2 months. I used EVERY ounce of will power to remain living, homeless, in a vast foreign (to me) city, just to hold my job long enough to leave on good terms and find a job back home using them as a reference.
My job in Philly LOVED me, I was one of the best they’d had, they would always tell me.
I’m still welcome back.
Anyway, Now I’m home, in my mother’s house. Unemployed, and again, at 25 yrs old, a fucking burden. My brother seems to be a lsot cause to depression and addiction, has been living here the whole time, but now with me here also, we barely have enough to eat. I had a job here the day I moved home, but since have been laid off.
I went through more shit with this recent female, who broke my heart, over this summer. I am ashamed of how fast and hard I fell for her, and how hurt and fucking ANGRY and used I feel still, all these months later. Granted, she did lead me on twice since then.
Let me clarify, I do NOT engage in casual sex with females, that shit without emotions depresses me greatly, I feel less lonely waiting for the “right” one, or ones, when they come.
After Jen, my 3 year relationship, I had not even approached a girl until this past January, and she approached and dinitiated everything.
The MAIN deficit I feel, despite all this, is the loss of the OTHER girl that my feelings for helped end my relationship. Let’s call her….”A”. She was a friend to me on a level I had never known, even while Joe was suppsoed to be my “best friend”.
She understood me in ways noone else ever has, and I, her. Now, I mean NOTHING to her. All those years, all those hours long convos too deep for our language to articulate. Just gone. Meaningless. Not to me, but to her.
I shouldn’t compare my most recent heartbreak to her, it’s not fair, or respectful to her as a person, but the love for the most recent girl was different. So much deeper, and more…selfless than I had ever known.
It’s A’s friendship that creates the deepest void within me though.
Since 2012, I’ve alienated almost all my other close friendships. I’ve always had a very small, tight circle, but it keeps getting smaller. I SWEAR not all of them are my fault, which hurts so bad.
I feel so guilty.
Worthlessly guilty. I hurt my best friends, my girlfriend at the time, who then became one of my best friends and alienated ME once she foudn a new circle sufficient in support enough to abandond my version of moral support.
In all of this, I mean ONLY to itterate that these feelings and thoughts of not wanting to live do not stem totally from childish “love” problems, rather, the loss of the friendships and connections of the soul deep enough TO bring about love.
I feel more alone right now than I ever, ever have.
Before I end this, I just want to say, I am NOT yet convinced I am brave enough to end this all, or that I should.
I feel absolutely worthless. Guilty for hurting my closest circles, and still guilty for letting that shit happen to my Mom.
25 and still seeing her vomit up her teeth almost every time I sleep long enough to dream, which is not often.
I want to say, I do not believe TOTALLY that I’m a peice of shit:
I am a poet, and a writer, at least I like to think I am good at it. I have a way with words, that can move people in pretty profound ways. I am an empath, and a pretty nice guy all around. I have once even actually saved a life before-literally. Smelling smoke walking home one night YEARS ago, I knocked on all the doors of the street, and the house in question was supposed to be empty as the owner was on vacation. If I had not RAN home to get my moms phone (I didn’t have one at the time) he would have choked and burned to death on his kitchen floor. I called 911 and they saved him in the knick of time, literally. The news and police wanted me to speak to the cameras, but fuck that, that wasn’t why I did that, to be on the fucking news, so I dipped the second they turned their backs. Knowing he now lives is enough. I only say this to portray that I believe I am a good person. I can list for hours as I’m sure MANY humans can, the countless sacrifices, real, true sacrifices, I have made for the benefit of loved ones and strangers.
I am also a musician. I LOVE playing guitar, and have gotten quite good at it in the past few years, when I felt so shitty there was no other medium or outlet, as the written word is too painful as of yet to describe any of this in anything I’d ever put my name on.
One of my dreams is to be able to articulate my feelings through music, and MAYBE have someone, even just one person hear it one day, and feel like someone somewhere understands them. Which is one of my true desires for my own life.
I lvoe life, over all. I love getting high with my friends. I’m not as crazy on drugs or reckless, now, but these past months have been worse than the past year.
I don’t know if any of this makes any sense and I’m sorry to waste anyone’s time.
All I can say right now is I am in a LOT of pain, man. Guilt too.
I feel hopeless and alone. During a bad bout of sadness, I let my hygeine go for almost a year and now I have fucked up looking teeth to show for it. I already have had bad self esteem issues, and I wonder if maybe my appearance had something to do with this latest heartbreak, as this girl had SWORN to me face to face she believed we were soulmates. HA, stupid of me, I know.
I can still see some reasons to live. I just want to help people. Anyone. Maybe then my life will have had some meaning.
I think constantly about resuming my training to reach black level three, as my Sifu told me when my parents divorced he understood my pain (my parent were both instructors at my Kung Fu school, it was my whole family life for the first 1/2 of my life) an that I am welcome back whenever I want. If I never quit I would almost certainly be a Sifu myself now. I was trained my whole life, in a very brutal way, from kindergarden. My parents paid extra for the “true shaolin training”, and I believe I am STRONG because of it.
I don’t want to die.
I want to LIVE because life and the people in it are beautiful. I just feel ultimately, unworthy or life. Of the people in it.
I don’t knwo what to do. I’ve been through countless therapists since the divorce, and especially since the attempted murder, as I call it, because fuck the courts I was THERE i SAW it, I know what he did.
I don’t trust therapists, or modern psychatric medicine. I know my grammar is slipping, please bear with me, as I said before, I am very tired.
I try to believe that the people left who say they care and would not be able to recover from my suicide mean hat they say, but man, I don’t know.
Two weeks ago, I cut two chords off of two busted TVs in my old room and learned from Youtube to make a good, sturdy noose. It’s now strung up in the corner of my room, on a steam pipe pole from the floor to the ceiling, I’ve already measured my own weight vs the heigh and length of the drop, I know I’m dead-on, pardon the pun.
Just one little sweep kick of the chair under me and…ya know. I’ve been staring at this noose for two weeks now.
I will say, despite all this, the sun is up again right now as I type this and that makes me proud, makes me feel STRONG again. Like when I took my second black belt test. Like when I lived out of my car in a fucking polar vortex in the big city ALONE with noone I knew or trusted, just to resign on good terms.
But then at night….it gets so bad.
IDK. I’m not asking for help. Or advice. Or insight.
I know ultimately I’ma peice of shit. I won’t post any pics or show my face because I have my stupid face. In my eyes, I am ugly.
I just want anyone left in my life who cares to be able to, if desired, TRY to find some semblance of understanding should I sometime soon have the strength or find the weakness to hang myself in such a way that my vertebrate breaks, causing instant black out and oblivious suffocation.
If anyone wants to, or even fucking cares, I want them to MAYBE be able to see this somehow.
So, worst case scenario, if you know me and love me, and are now reading this. I am so, so sorry. I tried to make you see or understand how much hurt I feel, what it feels like to never be able to get a full nights rest because I was a fucking ***** back in the day and let that shit happen to my mom. I tried to reach out.
I blame noone for the lack of being able to do so.
Whoeevr even ever sees this, thank you. I love you. And I am truly, truly sorry.
Maybe one day you can come to understand that I was looking down the barrel of the rest of a lifetime of agony.
They say that in hard times you find out who cares about you. I’m just like “where is everyone?” Even my mom gets angry when I want to sit next to her.