We Know Better

How Not to Communicate

I stay in bed all Saturday and I am so relieved that my father went into work. My mother gets frustrated with me very quickly when she realizes that I fully intend on staying in my room. After I snap at her a couple of times, she lets me be and it makes me feel exponentially worse. I hate myself for hurting her feelings and I hate myself for not being able to control mine. There is not much reason to eat since I am not doing anything so I don't. Instead, I lay curled up in my bed thinking about every bad thing that has ever happened to me knowing damn well that it is only going to make me feel worse. I am punishing myself.

It has been a while since I have thought about my ex too intently, but right now seems like the perfect opportunity as I play every moment we had together over and over in my head. I think about the good times, even if they were few, and they are tinged with the sadness of him being gone. We would not have lasted, I know that well enough, but I cannot get the niggling question out of my head: was I not even good enough to deserve a goodbye?

All of the times we had conversations about his ex come back to me and I realize that maybe I just have a penchant for putting myself in these situations. I feel like I am destined to repeat this same pattern for the rest of my life, and I will never be good enough to be number one. My relationship with my ex had more to do with his last girlfriend that it had to do with me. I wonder if that is all I am: a mirror for people to look at and see their own reflections.

Sunday is even worse because my father is home. He yells at me for hours about how lazy and how much of a waste of space I am. He is right. I do not know how to tell him that being alive physically hurts or that the thought of leaving my room wracks my body with anxiety without it sounding like an excuse. I cannot even forgive myself for it; how am I supposed to believe that he will.

I do not look at my phone all weekend for fear of seeing anything to do with my friends or Brendon. Somewhere back in the vague recesses of my mind I remember making a deal to do homework with Brendon, but then I turn onto my other side and forget about it. I will just end up tacking it onto the growing list of reasons I should hate myself. I can always do with some more material.

On Monday, I see the text messages and missed calls from him. They almost blend into all of the app notifications telling me about the things he has tagged me in or sent to me over Snapchat. There are hundreds of messages in the group chat and I still do not bother with opening it. I drag myself out of bed just to practically collapse again on the shower floor. My stomach will not stop churning and I desperately wish that the water would wash it away, but after too long my mother yells to me that I need to get out of the shower. My head is pounding and my limbs feel weak. I can barely look at my face as I stand in front of the mirror of my vanity. I feel blank. I feel numb.

When I get to school, I am parking just as the bell rings so I just know that I am going to be late. At least I know that my teacher will not mind, but in reality, with the state I am in, I really could not give a fuck if he did mind anyway. The class goes by pretty quickly and we spend it watching a movie about Hamlet while following with our books. Suffice to say that I do neither. I can barely focus on the movie let alone trying to analyze it while trying to focus on words and doing the same.

At break, I go to the normal table, but I do little in way of interacting. Part of me is keeping a lookout for Brendon so that I can avoid him. I think that I am just about in the clear since break only lasts ten minutes and half of the time has already passed. Then I see him approach the table. Without much thought, I get up from the table and gather my stuff. For a moment, we make eye contact and I give a small, compulsory smile before dashing away. I am halfway across the quad when he catches up to me and I feel frustration well up in me.