No, just let down because I've accepted the fact it's not me and it never will be.
Accepted the way he hates me, turns to me when he's bored, or when he's lonely because she won't talk to him. Isn't that enough?
It is. It is enough, because at least he's there, at least I know I crossed his mind at some point.
But honestly, it will never be enough. No one will ever be enough because no one will ever be more perfect for me than he was. He set that fucking bar so high that every other boy I meet, every other boy that likes me, loves me, falls for me- I don't care for them. I did try, I did try with a couple boys, I tried to care for them, I tried to love them, to fall for them if only a little, but I could not. I could not lie to myself and I could not lie to them.
In the depths of my attempts at love, I realized something, I was him.
I was lying to a person who was vulnerable, open, and naive. I was pretending to like them, when I didn't. The attraction, the smiles, the little words and quirks, the suggestiveness and offhand one-word things I say just to keep the conversation flowing when I was utterly uninterested: It was all a lie.
I realized what I was doing, I apologized, I confessed my lack of interest and my fear, I let out that there wasn't anything wrong with him, it was me, I was in love with another and I couldn't force myself to love anyone else. And then I left.
Everything I did was done to me, and that scares me. It terrifies me that I would do something like that to someone and to myself. It grabs onto my thoughts and squeezes until all I can think about is, "Was that what I was? A distraction from the girl he was in love with? He was in love with someone who did

--
and then I crashed, and I lost the entire six more paragraphs that I had written. But they were so fucking beautiful that I want to die now. I'll never be able to write something as I had, but I lost them. And I'll never recover them or replace them.

I Will Never Leave Your Side

No matter how hard you hurt me, how loud you scream at me, or how much you hate me. I will not fucking leave you. Ever.
You posted something:
"I will make you hurt."
I immediately texted you:
"What's wrong?"
You: "Fuck. Off."
You: "I'm hurt. I really am."
You: "It hurts so fucking much."
Me: "Who's hurting you?"
You: "Its a pain I cant heal. I can't hold it, can't put an icepack on"
You: "I can make it go away. I can."
You: "I said fuck off."
You: "It's none of your business nor should you be in my fucking head.
You: "Stay the Hell away"
Me: "Whatever you want."
You: "Liars and thieves...All of them"
--
I'll obey what you want, I'll shut up for now, but should I fucking tell you not to die? Not to kill yourself? Or do you know. Will me telling you not to make you want to do it? What do I do? Fuck.
God will not let you hurt yourself. If he loves me, He will protect you. 

It's my birthday

Sixteenth, the number where I believed I would run away and get married or something. Seems silly now, but extremely possible, if we were still in love.
Anyways, I skipped school and just woke up from the scariest dream. It really was terrible, horrible, terrible, it's all I think right now.

~We woke up in the forest, a bit of machinery wreckage would soon prove to be shelter and height from the oncoming zombies. They would carry trays of randomized items, pencils, remotes with batteries inside, bottles, just overall pretty useless items that you had to be creative with. Every human, all 25 of us, we were all terrified at first, but all we could do was run and kill, we couldn't defend, we could only run and run and kill and maim.

At one point, a bit of a climax, my mom found this working car in the wreckage, some beat up ugly silver Nissan. It was old and she got in and was supposed to run down the zombies, right? Well it was a lot harder than it seems to us in the movies and books.
The car could hardly move and it kept on stalling. The zombie up front with some other man and I, was getting a bit vicious and it was harder and harder to dodge the thing. We were trying to keep him in the open so she could have access, of course.
Once she'd finally gotten the car out and ready to accelerate the bastard, all the humans arrived, the 20 something alive. They were running about and I was screaming at them to get out of the way so she could kill this Zombie, but with the humans came more zombies.
Soon enough I was too busy hanging from a balcony (Of my house for some reason) being tugged on by this super fat zombie to notice my mom. He was heavy, but I was strong enough to pull out of his bloody grip. (All the humans and zombies in my dream switched locations from the forest to my house.) That didn't really help me, though because there was this dead woman walking out from my room towards my exposed hands. I screamed and screamed and eventually dropped down onto the fat zombie and just punched his neck and head and face until he died. I was scared, terrified.

We managed to kill all the zombies in the house. My mom was there, giving people water from the kitchen as they panted and cleaned themselves up. Some were bleeding, but from self harm. They hadn't been bitten or scratched or anything. I stepped outside and there, sitting in my garage, was Eternity's car. In the driver's seat was Eternity, of course, and in the back was Katie. I got into the passengers, no questions asked, we just drove down the street and around my neighborhood. Everything was chaos, but peaceful, kind of like a post-apocalypse setting. But there were zombies being dropped out of nowhere, they'd land, stand, and start shuffling around, bloody and grotesque. We quickly drove back and Katie ran in to tell the remaining humans.

Eternity and I decided to commit suicide, and we drowned ourselves somehow, in front of Katie. Katie didn't want to die, but Eternity and I didn't want to continue running and killing and we didn't want to turn into zombies. We'd done our part already. But Katie was then alone outside and there were hundreds coming towards her. Some how we grabbed onto her arms as spirits and 
pulled her spirit out. Her body fell onto the road, dead, obviously, and our spirits were shipped to this building, this huuuuge underground factory.

There were humans, spirits really, in line being processed by white-coats. 95% of them were being turned into zombies and shipped up into the world, the other 5% were spared for bizarre reasons. I faked OCD perfectly, and was sent to the waiting room for humans. Only me, though, along with some others, including a friend called Peyton, but not for long.
Soon enough they realized who I was and they turned me. I told them that if they turned me, I'd survive, I'd not be dead-minded, and I'd kill the rest of the zombies.
They told me that it'd be bad for my friends if I tried to rebel. ...What's worse than being turned into a zombie? I couldn't think of anything so when they did turn me, I immediately began to slaughter everyone, the zombies, the scientists, and then I saw my mother's head... I saw her among the rest of the zombies  headed up to the world that I hadn't killed, yet.~

And I woke up, horrified.

~It was terrible, but I went back to sleep almost immediately and there I was in the real world, I hid my mother, Eternity, Katie, and Amber in separate cells. My bite, apparently, shifted zombies back into humans. It was very difficult, though. For instance I bit Katie and as she writhed and turned back to normal, she was terrified, screaming and screaming. Why? Because I was a zombie, and there were 3 other zombies in cells clawing at the walls and moaning. I could talk, though. I tried to get her to calm down, but I couldn't. She wouldn't stop screaming. So I just moved on and saved Eternity. And Katie quieted, Eternity was flipping out, then, but not as noisily as Katie. I turned Amber and by then Katie and Eternity were alright, they weren't totally alarmed at seeing me. When I turned my mom it took a long while for me to be able to explain who I was, what I was, and what had happened.

I let them stay in this elevated room, invisible white room where no one could find them. I told them I'd bring all the humans I could up here for them to tend to. That was hard, too. I looked like a zombie, but whenever I found a zombie/human struggle I'd attack the zombie, get them away from the human, but have to some how keep the human nearby. I'd need them to help the newly-revived-human back to the hide-out. My work was a total success. Everyone, literally everyone had been turned back...Except I was still a zombie. ~
But I woke up. :c Sad faced.

Am I a liar? For grinning at everyone who looks at me?

 I haven’t cried like that in a while…

When I’m so ridiculously sad that the tears literally start pouring down my cheeks before I even slam the front door shut behind me.

I don’t really pay attention to where I walk, I just walk, I stumble down the dark streets open-mouthed and crying.

I sometimes wish there would be someone I could run to, someone who would see me alone in the streets with a hand clutching at my heart and another pushing my hair back as I sob.

Not the ugly, wail sobs. The shoulders bunching together and collapsing, throat burning, shaking like a leaf type of sobbing.

I know what my eyes look like and it shames me..

My eyebrows knit together and my eyes are narrowed and dilated. Why am I always so confused when I’m hurt? I let people down when I cry. All of my friends who think I’m just some normal girl who’s strong (I hate that word now- strong) and never cries and has no reason to. I feel so terrible when it happens. I want to die because I hate looking so miserable. I hate looking in the mirror and seeing some emotionless-looking girl. I wish I had a better looking smile. It feels wrong to me, like I lost the muscles to pull my lips into a smile. When I grin, it feels wrong, unusual, deformed.

I wish I could help everyone. I wish that my dad, when he hurts me, I wish it would take his pain away, that he could be happy for once. I wish he would smile more, that his boss will give him a raise, and his co-workers could climb off his back. I wish some stupid miracle would pull him out of debt and that everything in our house would stop breaking because we can’t afford to fix it. I wish he’d stop thinking about my on-coming death or my dog’s weak immune system. I wish he’d not bad mouth my mother so often.

I wish my brother would come off his addiction, his obsession, his drug. I wish he wouldn’t hate me for talking to him. I wish he didn’t have such a disgusting psychotic state. I wish he would smile more.

I wish my mom would be content with the money she’s getting, that she’d stop being so cynical about everything. I wish she would smile more.

I wish my sister would smile more.

I don’t have anyone to talk to except for posting useless idiocy on Facebook to make it seem like I have a life. (Now that I say it, it sounds stupid. Facebook isn’t any way to live. Maybe I should quit that, too.)




I hope I die soon.




I wish that whenever there’s a girl around (or a boy) who’s lost in pain and utterly hopeless near me…that my heart would beat faster and I could find them and wrap my arms around them and hold them tightly because their life depends on it.

Someone once told me that two birds with broken wings can’t learn to fly together.


Fuck that.

Love for me?

I believe it impossible now, for anyone to possibly love me.No, this isn’t a sob story, not at all. It’s merely a thought stretched out. A thought that I’ll say was reality knocking me down again.
I tried to love this boy because he was alone, so alone and hateful and sad and depressed. I saw him for what he was and I reached out, I thought I could help. Next thing I know we’re two birds in a tree, chilling together, enjoying each other.
And then he said he loved me.
And I was frozen in this moment where I couldn’t say that I loved him back. I wanted to, so bad, but I knew I couldn’t because I was possibly still in love with a boy that I broke up with almost a year ago.
So I told him that all I had for him was lust, not love, but eventually it changed and I felt something for him. And he was so convinced he was unloved by the world, no one could ever, /ever/ be with him.
So I told him he was loved. He asked me if I loved him, I said yes, I love you, I said.
And today, this day after, I was thinking and thinking and I was trapped in my own fucking prison. The prison of my mind.
I thought about how I felt when all the sudden, the boy who convinced me that he was in love with me for months, and I him, that boy who suddenly fell out. Who “died”. What if really, he only told me he loved me so I wouldn’t fell so fucking /alone/.
I couldn’t allow what happened to me to happen to this New boy.
So I told him that I didn’t want to hurt him, and that I’m leaving. Just like that.
And I want to die.
I don’t even wait for the other boy anymore, he’s too much like me, too uncaring, too hurt, too depressed.
And so is this boy, it’s all the same.
And I can’t do this anymore.
I’m going to stop trying.
I have no will to survive.
Let my sickness kill me.