Sometimes it hurts to breathe.
Other times I'm running on automatic.
Sometimes I'm in control - which leads me to question the God that thought it was a good idea to put somebody like me in charge of the vital function of getting the air into my lungs.
But most of the time, I'm not.
I don't focus on breathing.
So it goes up and down and speeds up and slows down and comes out heavy and comes out quietly a n d t h e n i t s t o p s
And I'm free for a moment.

So, there's this musical that I've become obsessed with.
That's normal, right?
Yeah.
I suppose.
Naturally, I've been listening to the soundtrack.
Over and over and overandoverandover because that's what I do.
I replay things until they're so old I can't bring myself to care.
But that isn't the focus of this one - that'll be covered another time, when I have a chance, when I've got a life.
A song on this soundtrack that I seem to favor is titled "Waving Through A Window", and I'm just amazed by the artistry of this particular song. It's so focused, guys.
It's real.
The singer is trapped behind a personality he's built up for himself, you know?
It reminds me of me - trapped behind a hypothetical "window" of sorts, fighting myself just to get out and be seen for once.
But there's also that fear of not being liked, of not being accepted, because I'm really a horribly numb human and I don't want to scare anybody away.
So I guess I'll just keep waving through this ******* window.

I'm supposed to get eggs.
Cereal.
Bread - yeah, we need bread. We always need bread.
Milk.
Logan wanted chocolate syrup.
I've gotta get chocolate syrup.
I don't want to get out of bed.
I want to stay here - I know here, I understand how my home works, and I want to stay where it's safe.
You know, considering the fact that I'm no longer protected.
I want those arms around my waist again.
Those surprise hugs from behind.
Stupid pick-up lines and sarcasm and Tumblr posts and soft rants and loud rants and everything else that I don't have with her any more.
But I-
I've gotta get chocolate syrup.

I woke up this morning.
Then I went back to sleep.
Twenty minutes past my alarm, I realized that public education has been ranked as something mildly important, so I got out of bed and dressed myself in the clothing that I had picked out the night before - varying shades of grey. Not fifty. I'd say about four.

I like this girl.
Granted, I'm not supposed to like her - I'm not even allowed to like girls, as if they think I can just avoid addressing my sexuality.
But I like her.

It's like
We've swapped.
You've gotten better as I've gotten worse and we're in each other's shoes, now
Did you repair yourself at the same pace at which I was breaking, huh? That sounds fun, it sounds great, really.
But I've become less social and more anxious and less confident
And I'm both worth less and worthless, as in I mean less to people than I did and that I mean nothing to them, too

It's late.
And I type too loudly.
I barely even wrote anything - I just apologized for running.
They broke up with me and I hid away for a month.
This weekend? Yeah, I locked myself in my room and didn't come out.

I've already prepared myself for the loneliness which is sure to come.
I just got back from Burger King.
I found out that I don't like Burger King.

1/24/17

I talked to her today.
I cried in gym class over it.
I told myself what to say and I just couldn’t.
But I said what I needed to, and she apologized. We talked it out—actually had a nice, diplomatic discussion about it, and I got a promise. I know she’s trying.

And the funny thing is that I don’t feel completely emotionally drained anymore.
There’s something there.

2/8/17
It’s gone again. I think it was the drugs I was on: they cleared my mind.
Made me forget.
I lost everything I’d gained that day.

Skin
Heat
Hair
Eyes; she's looking up at me again.
Her eyes.
Green-blue-grey-gold sparks of magic in an otherwise dull world.
She knows how to make me beg with those eyes - mainly because she understands that I can deny her nothing.
She is okay with that.
She is okay with my powerlessness in the face of her beauty.
I am not okay, for I am always weak and unready to face her as she takes the hand of the boy that she has chosen and walks away.
She expects me to follow her out of loyalty, out of trust.
She know that I will follow, but she thinks that it is because of our "friendship".
She doesn't know how far I've already fallen.

i used to write a lot
i used to feel a lot, too

it's MINE
it only hurts me
it only comes after me because it's M I N E
so yes, i can blame myself

My hands keep shaking.
Pronouns are a mess.
Help? No, nothing really helps anymore.
I'm just
Kind of
Here
Essentially, there's really nothing left.
I'm a body running on automatic.

i'm kinda
kinda scared, i guess
yeah
"scared"

when you say you're afraid, everybody's first response is "why?"
if i had a reason, i'd be able to fix it.
if i knew what caused the demons i'd have gotten rid of them by now.

orange
moose

i'm kind of alone
which is ******* weird, really
"kind of alone"

but it's true

i'm surrounded by people
but i've never felt less wanted