"Rereading her texts doesn't bring her back from the dead."
And I'm dead anyways. So read my texts all you want.
Somebody pick a fight with me. Set this all ablaze and watch the photos burn.
I can't do that. I will not give the world the satisfaction of being right about me. That I'm this monster...
Rereading her texts doesn't bring her back from the dead.
But she's not dead.
So let me rephrase:
Rereading her texts... doesn't bring her back.
I'm still in my car after the school day ends and I cry again.
It's non stop.
And I have to wait, for my brother to show up and then I can drive him home.
And not long after I start crying, he shows up.
He gets in the car and sees me in my guilt ridden, sad, apologetic state. All wrapped up in my pain.
And he tells me, "You should know that I love you."
My introverted brother, who rarely shows any affection towards any of our family, reached out to me in my time of need.
And God couldn't have given me a better little brother.
Despite all I've done and all the pain I've caused...
He could still say that.
And I drive us both home. Still crying, but definitely feeling a sense of hope again.
I still act as his role model most of the time.
And he listens to me.
And for a guy who doesn't talk much...
Listening is the thing he does best.
I cannot stop crying to say my life.
It's like it's on a schedule.
Crying in school, after school, in my car, at home, to my parents, to my teachers, to no one at all. For sometimes... hours.
I have officially become so broken that I've become pathetic. So I don't know. I'm a wreck. I cannot even think about this without hating myself, and I can't talk about it without crying.
I'm a broken fricken record about this story. Saying it over and over.
Apologizing over, and over, and OVER.
I am so sick of it. I do not want this, but I can't escape it. As much as I may want to, I can't. It is so easy to write about the bad.
I can't remember one good thing last said by someone important.
But I have a million good things to say about them. I always will.
And you're the one who's sorry?
Not as sorry as I am.
I don't want to be told to "get over it" as if it was ever that easy.
And I hate this. I really do. There is nothing left here. So I guess you were right about me being nothing more than my mistakes. I hope you take pride in being right. Because I am barely hanging on.
And you decided to walk away.
After all, this is the real me right? I've secretly always been this monster. I'm nothing more than you say.
So tell me what I am.
Every day feels the same.
I wear the same checkered shirts, eat the same food, go to the same classes, cry at the same story.
It never changes. And it never ends.
My life continues to be a TV drama gone wrong and all I want to do is burn it all. My shoulders are too high, shaking in 3 second shockwaves. My face is losing colour and life. The energy drained from my body. Strength beaten out of my arms and back.
There is not a whole lot of me left. So don't go looking for the living among the dead. Not if the host's body is already a graveyard.
Not a lot left to lose except for my own lone life. But I'm thanatophobic so an empty threat suicide isn't really doing anything.
And no, I don't want to hear about how "good of a person I am".
It makes me sick, I'm sick of hearing about how this is going to get better. I do not care to hear how it is "so easy" to just switch back to how I used to be.
It is never that easy.
I don't care if I can make this better, because right now, it is not up to me.
What I do, does not matter.
There will be no justice...
And no forgiveness.
At least I'm still in pain. It assures me that I am feeling anything at all.
I told you so.
It doesn't really feel good to be right. Everything is screwed. I haven't told anybody, but I have a feeling some people will know very soon.
This is killing me. It's Killing ME.
Help me damn it!
I don't want this.
I want a way out.
I want to go home.
But home isn't there anymore.
Home is not here.
And it won't be. Not anytime soon. Maybe not ever.
So I stopped trying to fight the brokenness. Not when I already shattered across the floor.
Every day feels like a public hanging. Accusations and no defence from me. I'm not okay.
So I will not return until I'm better. When that is, I have no idea. It could just never end. I could break and rage out, calling the hypocrisy and justification of how unfair this is.
Don't I deserve to be seen at all?
But if I'm not here, then who really gives a shit?
Fine. I'll let you live your life free of my destruction on your happiness. Because after all, I bring the drama right? And I can't escape it right? Confining me to my mistakes and nothing else.
Because hey, I never meant a damn thing to you anyway. But I won't snap just to prove you right. I'll just hope to regret sets in like it is for me.
Because I never gave up on you.
By nature, I am not a magnificent actor.
I mean, I try. My love of music and musical theatre does influence my acting ability. But even though I act in my videos for effect, or in a show for a laugh, I try to keep everything real.
Even though it's acting, I keep part of myself in my act, I stay present and honest. But that's not the kind of acting good at. Because right now I am fine. I work, I write, but to most of the world I am fine. Or at least I seem that way.
It's an act. And I am very good at playing the part. So good that I even fool myself. I forget I'm acting and just take my act as truth. Like I've always been like this. And it's terrifying to know this isn't me.
And this week I was doing well... until I wasn't.
I made it through a 6 hour workday, only to break down crying in my car just after the day ended. I didn't even expect to break until I just... did.
And losing the fifth is a pain I haven't really experienced. And now that the reality is setting in, I can't take it. I act like it. But hey, I can be a good actor when I want to be. So yeah, I am not okay.
But what can I do? It is not as easy as people say it is. At least, not for me. I can't explain it, I just don't speak up, and I shy away from getting better.
I don't say the right things, and people change, they move on, they let go.
And I... can't.
It's bordering on obsessive, making me seem crazy and unstable. I can't seem to pick myself up and let go. I mean, I don't want to. Too much good outweighs the bad for me to just give in. Or give up.
Or just... go.