My friends know far less than they think they know.
I'm not good at lying - not at all.

"I was working" "I was at a driving lesson" "I was in the SU"

It isn't lying if I believe it.
I think it's the disassociation
That when the cuts that decorate my thighs split open and I find myself in the bathroom for hours trying to cover them up

I really do believe I am somewhere else

Somewhere where perhaps, I'm normal - surrounded by people who love me and we can laugh and laugh and laugh and cry together.

My friends, bless them are both a treasure and a curse.
A curse because they aren't really my friends
only friends of the persona I have constructed

they wouldn't like the real me
she is no fun to be around - more dead than alive

A treasure because they give me a reason to open my mouth each day
Give me a reason to think

When I would much much rather cease to exist