I'm not complaining. I'm angry.

You've dismissed all loyalty to me. I see that. It shows in your wrath and in my pretty pools of blood that match the burning in your eyes. I want to disown you, but I can't.
You have betrayed me. And not in the preteen-melodramatic sort of way. You have really betrayed me. You always did.
So I am going to accuse you, fast and harshly, free of facts and full of words. You do not deserve to be free from my anger. You are the one that threw it at me.

You have done nothing but tell me how bad of a person he is. But he is my other half.

You have wrote me hundreds of hurtful words. About how I was ruining my life and how you hate him and how you can't stand it and you hate and you hate and you hate.

You left and refused to believe that you were still my friend, back in the days where you were. You told yourself things that weren't true, you ridiculed me for loving.

You wrote a poem calling me a whore and then gave it to me to read.

You encouraged rumors about me. You told. You coaxed them on. You said things to everyone.

You allied with Carissa and you sent me messages anonymously from somewhere. You hurt me. Your messages pointed out how bad of a person I was, that this anonymos figure was just trying to "help" me and that I was ruining my life.

You told things to Carissa that weren't true. You hurt Megan. You said things about her that weren't true by lying about their source.


Nothing but the facts.

Know my secrets.

It's not fair that you have control. You do not know me or anything about me. You might not even be real. You can not just take control in someone else's life.

What I do with him is our business. What we chose to do is not any of your concern, and being my secret adviser is nothing more than harassment.

You can not call me from restricted numbers at 12:12 am. You cannot send me text messages and not tell me who you are. You cannot come into my life and appear to be saving me when you do not even have the courage to explain your identity. I need your face. I need your face so I can se who has broken into my house, so I can kick you out. I will move away from you. I will find you and I will destroy your reality. How could you do this to me? Who do you think you are? I hope you are haunted by my temper and I hope that you find it to be scarier than you thought possible. I want people to know how I feel, because they don't seem to see that I feel away. Get away from me. Go find someone else to mess with. Go interfere with someone else's life. I am not your chairty. I am not your game. I am not your toy. You cannot just pick me up and lay me on my back and walk away, thinking that you...

HA. I know who you are! Stop messing with my life!
I know who you are.

Time Has Passed

When so much time passes, we eventually notice that we ourselves are different that the old self. It is so cliche, but cliches are cliche for a reason. They are so full of truth. Anyway.... I am smarter than this.

I have fallen in love. I have found this different way to spend my time, with him. And this only causes problems. Because I can't be with him without leaving my friends and if I spend my time with my friends, they only tell me about their good times together without me. So I can't really be happy in either situation, so what do I do?

Dear Michelle,
I don't know what to do and I don't know where to go. If we can't be best friends, I can't be your friend at all.

So childish.

I'm better than this.

But there's no way I can be your best friend unless I give up my boyfriend of eight months. Which way is correct?

Sincerely,
Melanie

I'm just rambling. I have something worthwhile to say, I swear.

...

Well, I have discovered these PostSecret things. And they are really good. So pretty and sad and addicting.

I wish I could talk to Lisa. There are so many things I would like to talk to her about.
I think I'll do that.

Goodnight.

Goodnight Lord.
Goodnight world.
Goodnight.

For the Last Few Weeks

Finally, I got what I had been asking for, all along. But next time I might want to be more specific, next time I might just stop and think. Maybe it's not so bad.
I wanted someone. And I got it.

He's not so bad. He's flawed, sure. But who isn't?

It's just that, in the flurry, I have lost my balance. I still had one foot in the past. I'm trying stay there as long as possible, when the rest of me is pulling forward.

And I hate secrets, and I hate whispers, so I'll tell them everything. But when I try, I know I'll start to speak in puzzles and tongues and that's all he really wants.

I know that for now, he's being honest. And when he calls me beautiful, I have to believe. That when a girl that looks just like me comes up to him for a hug, he's not honestly thinking of returning to her, this girl he used to date. Sometimes life is easy, and sometimes it's just so hard. This is reality, this is now.

Anxiety

I have no real reason to be going out of my mind. I'm supposed to be relaxing. I'm supposed to be fine. But life keeps piling on top of me, bit by bit in the form of people.

I am used to be standing off to the side, unimportant, and typically ignored. But lately, I feel like I'm the center of it all. Not in a vain sort of way, just that people keep coming to me to talk or to go to movies or to go somewhere else with them. It should be fun, summer and freedom and somewhere to go all the time.

But I can't catch my breath. All these people, I have to keep up with them, for fear of being lost in the dust...again. If this is supposed to be my shining moment, how come it's become to hard to just keep going?

And I haven't been able to concentrate. Reading books is impossible. It only takes one sentence for my thoughts to escape from the page and into some back alley I would rather not loiter in. The wandering thoughts paralyze me, like physical pain. They are so real, like revisiting the past in person.

They continue as I try to sleep. On top of it, I cannot seem to get comfortable in my own bed. I toss and turn, on my back, on my side, on my stomach, but I still feel completely restless. I open my window, I pull up a blanket, I kick the covers off, I get a glass of water, I try to read, I turn over, I watch some TV, I toss and turn on the sofa, I drink some warm milk, I go back to bed. I take some allergy meds that make me drowsy and finally find some sleep by 3am.

I can't even nap during the day anymore. And the next night, I get to bed at 1am, thankfully, but then end up tossing and turning all night, waking up each hour only to find it isn't morning yet.
I need to say something, to unload it all. But writing it down only shakes it all up more, so that I get lost watching it swirl inside myself. I can't tell it all to friends, because it doesn't make any sense. Why am I so stressed? I myself don't even know. I am just so anxious.

The dark circles gather under my eyes the way rings of black develop around doorknobs.

I believe part of it must be the uncertainty of relationships: friendships that is. Old ones are cracking, new ones are coming out of nowhere. And some are getting a little too much for me. It scares me, because I don't have the careful control I want to handle these people. Either I draw them in closer to me, or I offend them and they leave forever.

It all crashes around in my mind, great waves of worry and regret.
But I have no real reason to be going out of my mind.
And this is reality now.

Write a Letter, See What Happens

Write a letter. Just write. Write to the friend you used to be so close with and have since drifted apart from. Doesn't anyone realize how underused snail mail is these days? And yet it means so much more than anything that could be sent with the click of a mouse. Let's not be practical here. If you're going to be practical, then you have no reason to continue reading.
Write everything you've ever thought about that person. Take the letter, burn it up, shred it, and start over. Start over. Mail it. And find someone else to write to. Anyone that has ever affected you, tell them that. It doesn't matter. This is life, it doesn't last forever.
Who cares that it's not expected, it seems pointless and unnecessary. There doesn't seem to be a point to most of the things we waste our time with. But there is. There always is. There is a purpose to this.
Write a thank-you note for the things you never thanked anyone for. Even for the immaterial ones.
Just write.
Your words are more powerful than you think. And this is reality now.

Breathing On My Own

I can't feel anymore. There is only numbness. I feel like each day I am just sitting around, waiting for the end. And where is the end, anyway? I could be withering away for decades to come, with no vitality or real purpose. I just feel empty.
I know that there's things out there for me to find, to discover, and to live for, but for the moment I seem to be frozen in space. I cannot reach for anything more than what I have at this second, and right now I have just a bit more than nothing. I believe the very thing that was keeping me going has been removed so carefully, right out from underneath me, and I am only just noticing that something is different. I am completely and fully me. I haven't been myself so purely before in my life. I am meeting this person for the first time.
My open wounds are healing over. This scar will last for awhile.
And one day I will open my eyes and not think of this. The person I am now will be a fragment of the past; a thousand miles away. And this, is reality now.