Christ, I haven't been on here since just before I went to rehab. It's already been a year.

Three.
Three times.
Three times, I've fallen for it.
Shame on me, for I am but an aimless fool.
Bumbling around, no sense of purpose, so sense of ground.
I should probably cut the **** huh?
Oh but you see, I'm so lost these days, I don't know where to begin.

Silenced.
I watch.
I remember this.
It's me- but not me.
Please let this dream end. It is a dream right?
Someone else threw the lampshade, someone else had an expensive habbit, someone else had all those bruises.
That's not me. It can't be.
It's a trick, someones just trying to convince me that, that person is me.
That face.
Those bruises.
No.

There was a time when I craved knowledge.
I once thought it was a symbol of power.
I've come to learn, that it's all a lie.
Yeah, I could be doctor, yes I know I'm capable of it.
But I'd be in debt, and I wouldn't be happy.
So what would be the point?
In the end would you rather be intelligent and rich, or just happy but barely making do?
I think I chose the second.

Your arms feel like home to me.
But I don't know where I'm going to be the next few weeks.
Certainly not where I want to be.
But where I need to be.
Leaving you feels like leaving home.
I know it's temporary, but it already feels like eternity
And I haven't even left yet.
I'd never seen you cry before last night.
It came as a shock.
"Happy 16th birthday, you're going to in patient."
I realize you don't know how to deal with things, because you're exactly like me.
I'm leaving for too long.
It scares me so much.
If you relapse, I don't know what I'm going to do.
Scream? Sob? Lose my mind?
I don't know.
The thought of another girl touching what's  mine makes me feel like I'm going to spontaneously combust
And I know I won't stop burning.
"Do what is going to make you better, what's going to make you happy. I'm going to hate every second of it, but don't think of me in this decision."
Do you even realize what you're asking me to do?
You're asking me to choose between leaving the one person I've felt like I've known forever, and facing my own personal hell.
I know I'm never going to stop carrying this heavy load on my back that is my trauma if I don't leave.
But it is so. *******. Hard.
You weren't my first with a lot of things,
But you were the first of the important things.
First person I've cared about more than myself.
First person to stay and not give me some ******* excuse of "you're to ****** up for me".
The very first person that didn't leave the very second he got what he wanted out of me.
The first to not be manipulative, or mean, or abusive.
The first to encourage me to do something with my life other than sit in my room all day or party.
The first that encouraged me to get an education.
The first to want a future with me.
" I refuse to think that this is over. I know you'll be gone a long time, but we are not ******* over. Not by a long shot. We're not done."
Those words are my only comfort. The problem is, they're just words. One can say whatever he wants. Whether or not his words become reality will always be questioned until the day that they're not.
I've been dying a long time.
I fear that the maggots and worms writhing around beneath my skin will begin to eat at a faster pace.