#shush riz

[infanescent]

It's just a little unsettling I guess becuase I thought I was doing better

which makes it incredibly ironic that, for the first time in seven years, my parents felt the need to ask my friends if they knew anything about my mental health

and like, i dont want to seem like that person thats always looking for something to complain about, but my goodness I can feel the guilt in everything they do. like im some atonement now. which is fine i guess because ive played a lot of different roles here; the pawn, the scapegoat, the witness, the double agent. ive got things im guilty for too

and idk if im saying this is wrong. i dont know if it is. my view on things is skewed. and dont get the wrong idea because what happened on friday was really nice and i guess i really appreciate it and stuff

i just thought i was doing better. and they are concerned and now i am concerned. and like the entire situation sucks any way you slice it so why bother trying? 

like it or not i cant get myself out of this situation because im stuck doing this book and try as i might i cant get any real substance of help from anyone unless its the day before deadline, and by that time ive panicked enough that ive done it all already and it sucks. 

whatever. whatever whatever whatever whatever whatever whatever

its really funny that i forgot what my state was two weeks ago and that i though i had been doing better long term. its really fucking funny how i keep forgetting these things like what the fuck?

its so fucking easy to blame the book

[infanescent]

Fuck,  she underlined.

[infanescent]

I still can't hold a book with your name scrawled in it without my fingers hesitating. 

I still do not know what I want to do with this information. I could tell you, and it will be the first time we have spoken in nearly a year. And maybe the dawning realization would crash down on you - how much you fucked up. But I don't even really know if you care.

Of course I won't let this knowledge fall into your hands. I would not be seen to be so weak. I can't tell you about the damage you've caused, books you have burned. It's not yours anymore. You left it behind. It's old and worn and a little torn up. These are the things that you left behind. I am one of them.

I can't tell you that letting the eraser eat away your name gave me no closure. Ripping your name from the page didn't help either. But it was the first time in my life that I can remember doing purposeful harm to a book. That should count for something, shouldn't it?

The years that I've spent waiting to fix this should mean more to you than they do to me. That's how it should be, isn't it? Not even a happy birthday anymore. And me, the hypocrite. The irony in this is not lost on me. Don't think that it is. 

I still want to reach into my lungs and scrape away all of the songs we used to sing.

Fuck you. 

[infanescent]

I guess now the question is, am I using you as an excuse?

I don't know what the excuse is, or what it is for, but I am doubting if I can trust myself, because for what it's worth things should be better right now, and I guess they are, but it's not enough.

It's really fucking hard to care about anything right now and I don't know if it is because I am tired or if it is because I just don't want to exist anymore. Maybe the pretending has gotten too easy. I think I should be worried about that, and on some level I guess I am worried, or at least curious, because why else would I be writing this? But it's still not enough.

I guess I am feeling just very stuck and very unsatisfied with my life right now, and yeah, if I really wanted to change it, in some ways I could.  But it's not enough and even if it were easier, would I find the will to do it? Maybe it is difficult to picture my life in 10 years because by then I won't be living. That's what we call this, living. This old routine. I'm annoyed with it. 

Sometimes I think about crashing the car but I don't want to leave my father without a ride and so I always come home. 

[infanescent]

It astonishes me how you think you are going to walk into my life and suddenly fix everything that's wrong. But I didn't ask for a hero and I sure as hell don't need someone like you to rescue me.

Honestly, though, fuck you and your prying and your weird fucking obsession with me and fuck how you think you have my entire situation figured out, as if someone gave you a road map. Do you think that you, in less than a year, are going to fix something that we could not resolve in six? 

There is way fucking more going on behind the scenes than anything you know or can even assume. And by the way, I've had enough emotional blackmail without someone having to bring up suicide. You need to stop that. All it means is that I can't get angry with you when I have every fucking right to. 

And your "Best chance" nonsense and your "trophy," metaphors are like so fucking offensive it's not even funny. Like wow I'm sorry that this one instance of your life isn't working out because I refused to lay down and let you walk all over me. Sorry if I need some damn space. Get over yourself. 

Your entire argument was also laid upon the foundation of a huge detail that you decided to assume - that I liked you, that I wanted to date you, that I don't isolate and abstain out of my own choice. Not to mention the supreme amount of stress I'm under, the fact that everyone's dear friend will no longer be in the country with us, and the way that you were only thinking of yourself in this. Because at the end of the day you had the audacity to tell me, "I'm scared now that there's another person out there that can ruin me." 

What about me, asshole? Because you now know a ton of shit that you shouldn't and I swear to fucking god if you decided to tell or ask my dad about any of this at any stage crew meeting or whatever, you're done. You're out. Best chance my ass.

Let's face it. If my life came out a different way and I didn't have this shit storm going on at home, we all know who I'd be dating right now.

[infanescent]

I haven't felt like a person in months.

[infanescent]

The simple matter of it is that if I don't give you a chance to fuck everything up, you won't be able to. That's my motivation here. Because I have worked too much for too long and come too far for you to demand an invitation back into my life. And if you wanted to talk to me on my phone, maybe you shouldn't have lost my number. Asshole. 

It was so much easier for me when I knew that you didn't want contact. But now you are trying (but not hard enough) and it makes me look like the uninterested brat. Please don't forget that 6 years ago, 5 years ago, 4 years ago, I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to ask you about college and your friends and your work life and hey did you have any boyfriends i could tease you about yet?

Who read Harry Potter to you? Who tried ever so fucking hard to calm you the fuck down? Who tried to see everything from your side, hell, even tried to be on your fucking side? But looking back, I know that none of it mattered, and I was only something you could manipulate so that for once you could feel in control.

(fuck this sounds so cheesy)

I think I know myself well enough to know that I need to cut my losses. That's what I did. That's what I'm doing. Because a simple, "how is school going?" is not enough to make me start talking to you again. And if you think that being too busy is not an excuse, then maybe you shouldn't have used it on me half a dozen times. The point is that I am at this place where I'm okay with things or at least accepting of them, I am okay with myself and the ways in which I am wasting my life, I'm okay with this twisted piece of heart I have because it makes for some pretty damn interesting poems. I don't need you ruining that. People in college have made time for me. You couldn't be bothered to. What does that say about yourself?

I can just imagine it. You trying to get me to let you help me with my college writing shit. You saying that I'm a good writer, something that you shouldn't even know because never in my fucking life did I give you permission to read anything I wrote. You don't own me. You can't just command something of me and expect me to listen. Sorry that I got my own life while you disappeared for six years. Sorry I felt the need to go on without you. Sorry that I don't have a place in it for you now. 

Sorry for what I turned into and the things I had to give up because of you. Sorry you ruined everything for me.

Sorry I won't let you do that again. 

[infanescent]

Sometimes I want to burn my face because it looks so much like yours.