“Mom, I need to see a psychologist. I think I need therapy.”
“Because.. Because I don’t feel well. I want to kill myself.”
“What? What are you saying? Are you crazy?”
“Mom! That’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you!”
That’s how the conversation ended. I was left there trying not to cry at work and drop my tears inside the ice cream I was scooping for the customers.
I feel bad. There’s no escape.
I’ve recently bought a dress. Nude colored with balloon 3/4 length sleeves. Flowy chiffon that ends at the middle of tights. My mom says it looks like a nightgown and it does in a way. I’ve put it in my wardrobe all the same. I like it. Even if I know it will look better once it’s stained in red. Bright red blood spreading from my spike pierced stomach after I land on the house railing.
Panta rei. The present becomes past, the past becomes memories. The memories turn into stories. Bits of ourselves we tell each other’s to fall asleep late at night.
There are just so many things you can blame PMS on and I’m ten days past my period and 20 days early.
I lost it. I hate making mistakes and being wrong and I couldn’t contain my own anger and hatred forward myself and I was in front of the door, this metal door and I punched it with my right hand. It did not hurt. I did not use my knuclkes and as I was to hit the door I probably slowed my fist’s speed because I’m a fucking pussy and did not hit it hard enough. God I hate myself.
It was hardly one of the things that got wrong. Somehow, my post of few weeks ago disappeared, whether it’s my own doing or magic, I have no idea. It’s humorous because in that post I had said I was chilling and taking things easily and now I lost my temper the same way the post disappeared. I don’t mind tho. I don’t care about that entry of mine.
It saddens me I might not be able to see Earth communicating with any of the new planets. I hope my 50/60 years left will be enough.
Her name was Sara. She was taller than most of us. Blond and blue eyes. I liked her the most when she let her hair wavy. I didn’t know her. She made herself easily through my way, it surprised me too.
It all started during class. She asked me something out of no where and from that time she came to talk to me and sit next to me and she came to my house to eat several times and we went out a lot on Saturdays’. I loved her a lot and she left.
She moved during summer. She texted me about it.
“I’m moving tomorrow.”
I cried all night.
Another year of school. My classmates talked about Sara, they said mostly bad things. About the things she did when she was with us, about the things she would do over her new city. What would they know about moving and meeting new people? I knew. I knew you’d have to be accepted by them. Acting like them.
They told her through message she was a whore and I naively told her I understood, I knew that’s something you have to do and sacrifice.
“What about you (me)? Did she (her) wrong you too?”
“Yes.” Someone said as I was about to reply “no”, stupidly remaining mouth open.
That’s when my trust crumpled.
I know they talk behind my back. If you dislike someone why don’t you leave them alone?
I like looking back at my old Facebook status. It always makes me wonder who the fuck was the person who wrote them. I’d be dreading to post anything like that now.