Blinded.

Every time i heard about him, i suddenly needed to think of 300,000 ways not to say that i loved him. 1

Because almost every time my mouth began to open, the words were on it, in it, almost escaping into the air, and then suddenly i needed some other way to talk about the weather, a sentance that would NOT end like this: I hear it might rain. not that he was beautiful, not that i missed him, that i wanted him, that i wish i could be with him, and especially not something about how his hair framed his face in such a mind blowing, beautiful way. 2

And i wondered, what dream (or nightmare) of mine did he crawl out of? How many personas were combined to make such a being? How could we lie together, say nothing, and say everything, all at the same time? 3

How did the silence creep around us so full?4

25 ways not to tell someone that youre in love with them. I needed thousands more. 5

Every word Ive ever uttered, every time i backed away, gave him some space, THAT WAS ANOTHER WAY. Another way not to drive him away. 6

How do I not tell him Ive never seen poetry in anyone's eyes but his?7

All the lonely people, where do they come from?8

The beatles sang it well. Behind that happy innocence was distinct morning. 9

Ahem, *mourning* 10

But weren't they the same thing? Did i not feel the same in the early hours as I did when i was in the shadows, lost in my illness? 11

I wasn't sure. I felt sick, dizzy, cold. My mind floated over my body, swirling dangerously as I sat upright in bed, shivering in an old pair of boxers. My arms wrapped around my sharp body, i wondered briefly if maybe this was a joke, if maybe in a second a camera would blink, and i would see the director and his crew, clapping each other on the back for a job well done. But no, it was not a joke. The flirting, the comments, all the hugs and kisses and touches which had seemed so meaningless before, now shoved in my face, peeling, working themselves under my eyelids so i could see, truly SEE: they were all real. 12

I wanted to ask him what he thought a real life would be like. I wanted to hear it, his explanation of 'clients' and 'lunch breaks' and 'meetings' and all the shit that i was supposed to just roll over and accept when i got older. And then i wanted to just throw it back in his face. 13

I reached for the boxon my beside stand, the white rectangle with the words 'CANDY' proudly displayed for all to see. When i had bought it, it had been filled with long, white, chalky sticks, candy ciggarettes. It still had one or two left, but the rest of the box was filled with menthols, long slim virginia menthols. Cancer sticks, as my friends had called them. 14

My friends opinions didnt matter. They didnt understand. they never would. 15

i inhaled calm, sweet minty chill, a wave of reaasurance. Held it in. Exhaled. It was never as good as hard drugs, but nicotine did good enough. 16

I stumbled out of bed, my once muscled, now toothpick legs jerking, moving me forward. They took me into the bathroom, where I hoisted myself onto the white wooden counter. My pale arms holding me in place, I stared into my own dull, lifeless, eyes. 17

What color were they? Not blue. Definetly not blue. Not gray either. The color could be descibed as green. Maybe a green, green-black. 18

I lift an arm and run my fingers through my hair, tugging lightly at the bleached, blonde strands. Pulling my hand back, I see clumps, my fingers threaded with golden grease. 19

I stare at them. I wish I could cry. I can cry for something so small, but I cannot cry for pain. There's been so much....ive long since forgotten how. 20

My eyes fall, lowering to the bone, the uncolored, blank frame that used to be my neck, collarbones. Now its just an empty case, a frail, old, shatterable edge that squared it off, the tarnished 'silver' and greening stone. I glare at it. How dare he. Those laughs and smiles, such an act. What more could I expect from someone who was in a drama class?21

My shaky hand rises, lifting itself to the string. I pull at it, but find myself too weak to rip it and toss it away, as I had wanted. I smoke another ciggarette, opening my mouth when its gone down to the filter,and inserting the striped white remains. Chew and swallow. Menthollllsss....22

I unclip the necklace, and lift it over my head, peering up at it through my eyes, blurring with tears from the soured ciggarette. Placing the stone on my tongue, i taste its empty iron, salty taste. Like pasta. I close my mouth around the string and slip it down, slurping up every last metallic inch. It was okay. Could have used tomato sauce. 23

My legs dangle and jerk, twisting me and carrying me away from the mirror. I go downstairs, and despite the time, fix myself another cup of coffee. I wonder how many cups its been so far. I long since lost count at eleven. After that i was a blur. A sallow, wasted blur. 24

I sit at the table with my drink, letting it get cold. Never mind drinking it. I want to COMMUNICATE with it. Tell me coffee, tell me why. Why didnt I see it coming? Why did it happen? Coffee, have you ever been treated badly? Who has done you wrong? 25

I stroke my mug, a red ceramic number given to me a year ago by my phsychiatrist. The note on the gift had said, 'Congrats on the recovery! Good luck with school. Keep following your dreams!' And i had. I followed my dreams all the way to a dead end. I plotted and planned the storylines so well, that I forgot about the ending. 26

Where would I end?27

I stare into my coffee cup, my dead eyes searching the rich brown for signs of life. There are none.28

Even coffee has forsaken me. 29

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*blinded* I can see nothing. Nothing but the light. Manic has abandoned me and sent its brother to console. ...But depression is not a talker. 31

I am beyond feeling. Spent a few minutes in rage, but that soon escaped and left me with a gaping hole. A peice of me is missing, and although I want it back, I will, under no circumstances, request for its return. 32

Im not sure if I want help or not. I tried to get some a day ago and was laughed at and told that i was just a 'horomonal teen.' A few minutes later when I became silent and sullen, she realized I was serious, and asked me if i honestly wanted help. But by then I had given up, and said something like 'No. Apparantly phsychiatric help for me would be a 'waste of time and money' because apparantly im just a 'horomonal teen'. 33

It annoys me. She thinks im so much better. No. Now im just a much better actor. Im better at hiding things from you. Im better at pretending. But mentally, im just as fucked up as before. 34

Ignore ignore ignore. Change the fucking subject to something you can relate to. Thats all youve ever been good at....35

It been so long since Ive been like this...never in my life have i been so compelled to hate, to hurt, and to cause emotional pain. And never in my life have I NOT BEEN ABLE TO. So, until I can think of the correct method of despising someone, of cutting you completely from myself, then let me say:36

I will hate you with a fierceness beyond words to remember how, the wrong way. 37

I love you....I hate you i hate you i hate you....