Audacity

Remember Me

A/N: Feeling very angst today…Don’t really feel like leaving bed

I’m tired of this. Tired of myself. I feel fucking hopeless. Useless. It hurts to breathe, hurts to move. I’ve become cold. Lifeless. Numb. I’ve never hated myself more. I look at all the friends I’ve lost in the last few years. As if they even give a damn at this point. And why should they?

I’m about as worthless as they get.

I’m used to being forgotten, it’s forged into my blood. Friends come and go, every time I changed schools really. I’ve never stayed at a school for more than two grades since I was 10, which was 6 years ago. I would flutter in, leave a tiny imprint, and promises of keeping in touch would flock in time after time. It would never cease to surprise me, how many people would pledge loyalty, friendship, and means of keeping in touch.

Shortly after I turned 14, I realized that this wasn’t true.

Sure, I had made a plethora of friends my final year of grade school. I loved them, we got along. But I guess going to a different high school severed my ties once more. I’m tired of it.

It’s not fucking fair. It’s really not fucking fair that I have to sit here and watch all my friends trickle down this path of forgetting. What did I do in a past life to force this fate upon my unwelcome heart?

Another bruise, another scrape that never heals. Friends come and go, but it’s an arrow to the side, a foot to the face, when promises are made then broken.

If you can’t keep it, don’t make it… I’m tired of feeling rejected. Like, like I did something wrong to deserve being forgotten. Like I didn’t make enough of a lasting impression. Like I was too broken, too tattered to be messed with. I’m not a fucking Pet Project. I get it, though. I’m fucked up. Fucked up beyond belief with minimal hopes of ever being healed, I was a complete mess.

I’m sorry, if I ever forced that onto you, my problems and my sick demented mind. I’m sorry I wasn’t happy enough, couldn’t play into the little fairytale world where everything was fine. I’m sorry I’m too screwed up for people to deal with.

So I cover all that shit up. I store it away, hide it into my heart. My friends, the few I’ve managed to keep, they don’t deserve this. They don’t need all this extra burden of listening to myh every delusion, paranoid thought, or musings when I feel lost and alone.

How are you, they ask, but never truly mean…

Alive, I reply.

And in my sick and twisted little kind, I think to myself, alive, barely hanging in there by a string, breathing, but losing all hope…

And none could be any the wiser…

A/N: For all those who've left me in the dust....