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.

This Hypocrisy May Not Even Sting

I'd rather him just tell me what I don't want to hear rather than ignore me. It turns my stomach because the possibility is still out there that this could still go either way. I am still waiting for the excuse for his silence. I'll take anything, as long as they are his words.
This makes me so nervous. I don't think he has any idea.

He is helping me, though, perhaps unintentionally. I've been asking the sky for this for months. "Just leave me alone."
And here it is.
Not sure I want it.

I'm so innocent. So leave the delicate part of me alone. It's so complicated that the delicate part of me is him. Or is it? Has he become a part of me?
I feel he has become eerily predictable, even before this. Of course I knew that this was only a second away, that the waterfall was coming. I heard it rushing.

This is ridiculous on so many levels.

I'm sorry, I tell myself. I'm sorry for getting you into this. But it's fault. Eleven months ago, it was his fault.

He's the one that started this.
He's the one that stayed.
He's the one that hugged me.
So...what is the problem?

Relax, I only said he was supposed to be Mr. Catholic Boy. Clearly he isn't. Clearly he'd rather sit and watch his drunk-ass friends have all the fun. He'd rather throw around the "F-word" if it suited him.

I don't know.
This means nothing.
I don't love him.
I don't need him.
I just...wouldn't mind his company.

He is the one that hugged me, isn't he?

Now he's ended it.
If I never speak to him again...
Goodbye.
Forever.

And this is reality now.

Apartment Brochures and the Concept of Time

Tell me why it is so difficult just to go in and out of Chuck E. Cheese, but three minors who happen to be completely broke can waltz right into an apartment complex and ask for a viewing. I mean, we only have a few months before we're legal...but honestly, the lady behind the desk offered us complimentary waters and cookies, took about an hour from her schedule and chauffeured three underage idiots around on a golf cart to look at their townhouses. We drive by children on tricycles whom we're not much older than, and past a shady looking man in his late twenties whose cigarette smoke envelopes his entire balcony as he talks loudly into a cell phone.

This is a strange world. Even more strange is how close it is. I could be a part of this (for only $1515/month! "In a prestigious community nestled just below the hills!") and I can be a part of this legally in less than a year. It's a matter of months. Break it down, and it becomes days. Hours. Minutes. This could be mine.

Age and time are strange ideas. Both just continue, unfalteringly, despite our negotiations, despite our hardships, despite our own power to change everything else about the world around us. It always keeps moving forward. And this is scary. This very day is lost now. It may have been the present today, but it is gone. What happened today will never happen the same way again. It is over. I will never have this day back. In fact, go ahead and cross this day off my life countdown. One day closer to whatever is waiting for me, one day closer to certain mortality.

It is overbearing, how easily people can fall apart. I already feel the fragility of my own body, and its ability to hold be back. And yet. I am locked inside this steel cage, heading off the side of a steep cliff. I ache and I find moments where I can't breathe and it's all so difficult to hold together. This fear of age is not helped by the fact that my very own mother has doctor's appointment scheduled for herself about three days a week, every week.

I'm scared of falling apart. I'm scared of pain. I'm scared of not being in control.

Sure, age seems alright now, me just being on the brink of freedom. But I don't want that. I never asked for this. I'm torn up, inside and out, and it only gets worse with every tick of the clock that sits so proudly at my bedside. As if it's waiting, gleefully, for me to fall. And this is reality now.

I Wasn't

I was never one of "those" girls. You know, the type that seem under control at all times. The kind that always seem to think for themselves, and come out of their thought process with a plan. And they do it, and it all works out.
Yay.
The End.

Nope, I was the wallchild. I'm not complaining, not trying to get sympathy. But this is always where I begin. Like a phoenix, I started as nothing, as ashes. And look what I have become.

This is reality. Now.