It’s been almost a year since that incident between you and I has occurred, almost a year since I’ve cut myself off from everyone I knew, it’s been almost a year that I’ve been living my life like this.
So dear “friend”, let me write you a letter of how I am and how my life has been since you and I.
I don’t talk to them anymore, our friends I mean. They’re not really my friends I guess, I mean what friend talks behind your back and spreads crap about you and shares secrets? Those ones I guess. Yeah, I don’t talk to them anymore.
I stopped going to the counselors as well. It’s not that I’m better, but I just don’t want to talk anymore. I mean, what’s the point right? Talking about it won’t solve anything.
I haven’t hurt myself in 3 months. But that’s because somehow there’s a pain inside me that’s almost unbearable.
I haven’t talked to anyone about how I really am, or how I really feel anymore. I don’t trust anyone. Can’t trust anyone. I’m tired of things spreading, people whispering, sly smirks. And the best way to avoid that? Keep my mouth shut.
It sorta makes me sad really. I want to talk to someone, like I do want friends but it seems that I’ve forgotten how to make friends or at least how to keep them. I do want to bond with someone but I can’t bring myself to do it.
Sometimes I see people post pictures or videos of them and their friends and how much fun they’re having. All laughs and smiles. And belonging.
They belong to that group of people, they’re like a puzzle piece and they’re all supposed to be there.
I don’t belong anymore. I no longer fit into the puzzle that were my friends. I still hang out with them at lunch times and stuff but it doesn’t really mean anything.
So “friend”, that is my life after you and I.
After being mistreated by you and being told so many terrible things.
I’m sorry I’m not skinny.
I’m sorry I’m not as beautiful as her.
I’m sorry my voice is not as sweet or gentle as hers.
I’m sorry that I am incapable of doing the simplest things.
I’m sorry for being an attention seeker.
I’m sorry for being me.
I’m sorry for existing.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted me to be: your slut.
You fed me bs on how much you loved me but constantly judged me. Now look at where I am. Look at where I have gotten after putting up with you and your crap for weeks.
My life is a mess, its a wreck. And I’m pretty sure it’s safe to say that you helped in making it like this.