2013-12-01 17:19:55 (UTC)

Despite Empty Smiles

"Hurt" by Johnny Cash

I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real

Sunday December 1, 2013 5:20 PM

Tomorrow is Lily's birthday. At 2 am this morning, she asked me if I'd be done with the notebook (I'm going to give it a name since I'm tired of saying 'the notebook Lily and I share' constantly. I'll call it Moostache.) anytime soon and I avoided answering because I lost it plus I didn't really feel like sharing anything with her.

Not in an angry way, just in a kind of sad, too late way. Not saying any of what I did was her fault, but I was always trying to push people to open up because I felt so vulnerable being an open book. I told them things they didn't want to know in a desperate attempt to bring people closer to me. Didn't work at all.

Anyhow, I learned no one cares about my shit. Again not in a self-pitying way. They genuinely don't care, and I'm fine with that. Even I don't really care.

So yeah, I'm learning to shut the fuck up. Things get out if I'm being cryptic but I feel guilty anyways.

If she wants to be close to me now, (which I highly doubt) then it's gonna be tough because I'm very tired of having one way friendships.

I found Moostache a few hours ago and figured since it was her birthday tomorrow, I'd write. I wrote some bullshit about how if you don't know someone, you can't really fully care about that person.

I was partly musing and partly trying to send a message. A bitter message. You don't know me. My friends don't know me. They care about me, but they have no idea what I'm capable of and what I can do and what I feel.

Around them, it's fun being fourteen and girl but without them, I'm not fourteen. I'm just.... there. I have thoughts and conversations with myself because I haven't met anyone yet that thinks about the things I do.

Maybe I have and I just don't know. Maybe I don't know my friends, either.

I don't CARE. I don't NEED to leave a handprint on anyone's heart. Writing takes care of keeping me alive in memory.

What am I even talking about anymore? I'm dark today.

I want to be skinny again. A few months ago I was fat. Last I weighed, I was 109 pounds. A lot of people have been telling me I look like I lost a lot of weight (twenty eight pounds I think I've lost). I take it all as a compliment. I don't really fit in medium skirts that well anymore. They fall from my waist to my hips.

Lost in me. Lost in me.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm okay. Then I realized, being okay means your life isn't drastically changed by your feelings and behavior. You can still function in daily life. Which means I'm okay.

I'm smiling right now. Even though I'm not sad, it's a very empty expression that I wear.

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