I know you don't care

taking a look in the mirror

As soon as I burst through the door, I go to the kitchen. The countertops are smooth, modern, and clean. The opposite of me right now. Practically Panting, I go over to the sink and drink straight from the tap, not bothering to get a cup. My clothes are cold and soaking, and my hair is so wet that if I wrung it out, it would be enough to fuel a whole town. My hands shake as I flop down on the couch. Low blood sugar. Shit. My head spins, and I feel like I'm in a fever dream. Sleeping is the only good option right now. I feel too sick to eat. Too angry. Too fed up. I don't even crave things anymore. My favourite steaks or fries feel more like a stomach ache to think about than anything. My eyes glide closed and my vision darkens. Maybe I'll just rest for a little bit.

When I'm awake I just mope around. The run helped for a while. Being too exhausted to think is actually kinda nice. It switches off my brain which doesn't stop most of the time. Doesn't stop what you may ask? The horribly plausible scenarios and possibilities that swarm my head 99.9% of the time, And the 00.1%? That's when I'm with him. I wonder what he's doing. Probably talking to those freaks. God I just want it to stop. All this shit. I go up to my room and lie back on my bed.

I've been trying to avoid going on my phone so I don't have a mental breakdown but honestly, I think that it's inevitable. I pull it out of my hoodie pocket. My clothes are still soaking wet since I was too exhausted to change them. I should probably get to that. Meh, I'll do it later. As I look at my phone my hands continue to tremble and shake. More posts. Cute selfies of them smiling and laughing. One of them is a picture of just Jake and Hailey both grinning gleefully on her sofa and for a minute I wish it was me sitting there. I wish I was the one he put above everyone else like I do for him. The one he smiles while thinking about. The one he makes weekend plans with and cute little sleepovers like children. Why did he have to always go to her? My body fills with rage again. Or sadness? Or maybe even shame. I would go on another run but I think I would pass out. I begin pacing my room. It's like my emotions are too big for my body. I want to scream or cry. I need something to get this out. To take it out on. I look up at my long mirror. It shows my whole body, head to toe and I hate it. I look at my twisted features. My hooked nose and dimples. My messed up hair. My clothes that cling on because of the rain but when dry barely fit. The small marking on my skin. I hate it. I hate those freaks. I hate everyone. I hate me. My fist flies in the air before I can stop it. The mirror breaks into a million shiny pieces, twinkling as they clatter to the ground. My knuckles sting. When I look I see I'm bleeding, ruby red blood dribbling down my arm. It hurts but for some reason, I feel...better. my once scrambled thoughts now together. There is finally silence in my mind. I pick up one of the decently sized mirror shards and put it in my desk drawer, hiding it under some old sheets of paper filled with homework answers and doodles. I'll save that for later.

Since I haven't posted in a while I thought I'd give you guys some lovely angst 😘