snap out of it. [dreamnotfound]

1

"It can only go up from here!"

What bullshit. How much longer are they going to keep feeding us this optimistic crap for? Because fuck, I know way too well how much further down it can go from here. This mindset they're forcing on us, getting our hopes up for better days just to have our entire world crumble below our feet when we're least expecting it. Because why would we expect it? I thought it could only go up from here, right?

Luckily I know better than to even consider a word they spit at us to be true, they're just reading off a script so they can cash their checks at the end of the month. We all gotta compromise our values to make a living, don't we? God, reality sure is bleak. I doubt they believe a single word they say to us.

The irony of sitting in this humid gymnasium, barely tuning into the fake positivity being preached as beads of sweat drip down my face and threaten to smudge this morning's hard work of covering last night's mistakes. The thought of it makes me shudder, briefly remembering the look in his eyes before his fist made contact with my cheekbone once, twice... I stopped counting once I saw stars. He'd apologized profusely, but I wasn't tuned in. What a blessing and a curse to be able to switch into and out of the body's metaphorical driver's seat, allowing whatever basic instinct is left in my numb body to take over. Did I mention that reality is bleak?

You're probably wondering who I am, rambling on about the rather depressing facets of human existence. The name's George, and surprisingly not all 18 years of my life have been this disappointing. But who am I to dwell on the past when I have such an entertaining present! I mean, it must be entertaining enough if you're sat here reading.

The seemingly endless ramblings of underpaid school counselors are finally drowned out by the school's bell, signaling us to our first class. Time to pretend we're the normal kids, not the kids so emotionally damaged that the state mandated us to show up to school an hour early for 'group therapy'. I'm hoping you get the same kick out of that as I do. This 'therapy' is just as useless as all the other interventions I've had, from medications to therapists to psych ward stays. At what point do we just throw in the towel and declare myself a lost cause?

Luckily for me, I haven't given a fuck about school in ages. It's all just a game at this point. Nobody in this building cares about me anymore than they care about the homeless people they pass on the sidewalk, softening their performative guilt with the excuse of not carrying cash. But, at the end of the day, what's worse: the lack of acknowledgement that comes from my peers, or the overwhelmingly negative acknowledgement I get at home?

Can I even call it home at this point? The second the clock struck midnight on the evening of becoming an adult, my parents happily granted my wish to move in with my boyfriend, less concerned with how I'd be and more so just happy to rid of the extra financial deficit. How fucking naive. It's six months later, and to put it simply: the honeymoon phase is well over with and Liam is just like every other human I've had the misfortune of getting to know, truly shit. And that's an understatement.

But who am I to judge? It's not like I'm some gold-star upstanding citizen. I'm just like the rest of 'em, fucking bleak. The only flair I've got is a wicked chemical imbalance in my brain and a severe alcohol reliance. At least I can admit to it, they say that's the first step to recovery! It'll be my last, too. I'd be lucky to wither away to the alcohol's negative effects on my health, not like I've had any luck in getting rid of myself the traditional ways.

Have I been rambling? Sorry, it's just that the painstakingly long walk from the gymnasium to the opposite side of campus for my first period lecture was almost brain numbing. The second I walked through the classroom door I felt eyes burning into the back of my head, though it's not an unfamiliar feeling. Clay's God complex has decided to fixate on little ol' me, how cute.

It's funny almost, how those with the most problems would do anything to pass them onto someone else, and those with the least problems will happily accept them. I've never really been one to participate in this whole morbid trauma exchange, but Clay's motivation piques my interest. I guess I'll bite. What do I have to lose? It can only go up from here, right?

"...All I'm saying is, if you show up and let loose, you might find yourself having fun for once!..."

Trying to imagine Clay's idea of 'letting loose' is slightly humorous. A shot, perhaps? Maybe a cheeky chief off of someone's dab pen? The disconnect between me and the sheltered boy sat across from me is almost sad. Crazy how the choices we make in life really do have an impact. Not that I'd ever agree with the counselors, of course. That's just part of life: you either fuck it up or let it fuck you up. At the end of the day, no one's destined for greatness. Every rose has its thorns.

He continued to ramble on, his hands dancing through the air in a measly attempt to illustrate his point. It's a bit pathetic at this point, the secondhand embarrassment being enough to make me fidget in my seat.

"...I could even pick you up! Or we could meet there, whichever is more comforta-"

I had to stop him. It was getting painful.

"What's in it for me?" I interrupted, finally attaching my eyes to his own, watching his pupils dart between mine and the floor. Amusing is an understatement when attempting to describe his genuine surprise at my hint of interest. He cleared his throat abruptly and seemed to think carefully before starting up again:

"I'll... uh- I'll owe you one. Just please, I promise you'll have fun."

The sincerity elicited a small smile from me, to my own surprise. Fuck, the mask is falling. When did I start to lose control over the emotions I showed? He held a shaky hand out as to signify that we were in agreement, looking at me expectantly. I rolled my eyes, barely stifling a chuckle and connecting my hand with his. He immediately let out a breath I hadn't noticed he'd been holding. Why is this so important to him?

Nonetheless, our hands disconnected and I slightly missed the touch, the lingering warmth on my fingertips almost mocking me. Just another touch-starved teenager, getting lightheaded over a simple handshake. How pathetic. I looked up and saw him staring at his own hand, and for a moment I thought he might relate. This weekend should be interesting.