I’m posting this here because I know that no one follows me here, I guess. Nobody uses tumblr as a blog, anyway, so maybe I’ve got the element of surprise on my side, too.
This whole mess is so fucked up. I can’t think of any time in my life when I’ve ever felt more lost for words. But it’s not just words. I don’t know how to think about anyone anymore, how to act. Like this is going to be a year of walking on eggshells. Three months ago everything was so fucking easy. And now it’s this.
Deep down I don’t really believe that he hit her. That makes me sound awful, but she lies all the time. She’s lied to Mary and to me and to her family and to Katie and everyone seems to gobble it up or just shrug it off because they don’t like her, it’s not important. No one ever calls her on it. She’s always been malicious, she’s always had this inferiority complex that drives her to seem larger than life, that forces her to be ten times worse than Kelli was, to be this much more of a thorn in everyone’s side. But no one expects it from her, so they don’t see it. But him. Fuck. Him. It’s not that I don’t believe he’s abusive, because I know he is, in the way that they both are. Mentally, emotionally. He’s always had anger issues, he’s always had family trouble, he had drug trouble but that was over for so long before she entered the picture. They drove each other to what they are now, so self-destructive and so co-dependent. They romanticize this shit in the books, make it look glamorous and tragic, Shakespearean. It’s not. It’s fucking terrifying. It’s watching your face hit the dashboard on a loop and feeling the break every time. But I don’t think he hit her. One time I made him so mad, like smoke coming out of his ears mad, and he got up without saying a word, walked out, punched a fucking dent in a locker and went home. Texted me later saying sorry. Never told anyone about that, because I thought I was respecting him the same way he respected me. We were equals, I guess.
But what the fuck do I mean to him? I’m not going to pretend like I’m not selfish, like I care about her when all she’s done is tear down my friendships one by one. We used to tease each other and be like, jeez, what a fucking best friend you are. I was trying to get rid of Alexander once, right, so I grab his arm and say, “Quick, act like your my bff or something,” and he gets all offended and goes, “Act?” He wouldn’t talk to me for ten minutes and I thought it was the sweetest thing ever. I thought I was the one he could talk to when he couldn’t talk to anybody else—I was the one he could talk to. It just doesn’t mean as much as I thought it did. I don’t even care anymore, it won’t hurt to say it. I love the kid. I love him like family, more than some of my family, even now, or else it wouldn’t fucking hurt like it does. What was I to him, that he talks to me about his grandfather and his old fucking war stories and how earthshattering it was when he died, and then he tells me he likes me more than that, might fucking love me, tells me he knows I’m fucked up right now but so is he and if I say wait he’ll wait, but what was that really? Am I so fucking meaningless? How was it so easy for him to through years of us away like it was nothing? Why was it so easy?
I’m crying right now. Like, sobbing. The keys are blurring. I feel cheap. I feel used. I’m terrified but I don’t know what of. Him? Yes, but be more specific. I’m scared of what he’ll do to himself if he’s alone. I’m scared of what he’ll do to both of them if they get back together. You’re not that goddamned selfless. I’m afraid because him being gone means I’m alone. Nobody really knew how much that asshole meant to me. I knew he was a prick, and that he was not the kind of person I need to be around, but he was there, not leaving, not changing, and he was willing to let me fix him for a little while. He would let me be right, he wouldn’t look at me like I was fucking subhuman or like I was an embarrassment, like a scar that you hide before you leave the house. I was sick and tired of being the person to cling to the past when everyone else could just wash their hands of it like it was nothing, like they didn’t feel ripped into eighty million pieces. But he was clinging, too, so I thought we would be okay. But now he’s gone, and he was the best friend I’d had for months. And if I didn’t mean shit to him, to this stupid fucking boy that I cared about like he was my fucking brother, what do I mean to everyone else? What do I mean to Katie and to Mary and to Casey, to all my acquaintances who say they love me like they say the time? I’m scared because it means that I’m alone, completely and utterly, and I’m scared that no one would miss me when I’m gone. I’m afraid of living, right now.
I need a gas mask to walk outside; no one would recognize me and I’d get to filter their scent out of my breath.