Too Far Gone

Too Far Gone

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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Fri, Mar 16, 2018
"There is one picture of Cara and I at a family picnic, she was so beautiful with her long dark hair blowing in the breeze of the spring day. Her curvy figure was outlined so well in that flowy summer dress. And then there's me with my arm around her waist smiling like an idiot. The funniest thing about this picture is that we are both blushing like crazy from this "intimate" position. It's crazy to think how much I have changed in the four years she's been gone. I now fuck nameless girls with coke in my nose and whiskey on my breathe without hesitation. Would I still be the same shy guy around Cara? One thing is for sure, I have never stopped loving her... I just pray she will still love me for who I am now. Because I don't love who I have become, how can she?"
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Content Warning: This story contains themes of abuse, mental illness, blood, and drug use. Reader discretion is advised. If any of this feels familiar or personal, please know you're not alone. Feeling overwhelmed or emotional doesn't make you weak-it makes you human. If you're going through something and don't have anyone to talk to, you can always message me. My DMs are open on Instagram @thegoob_first. No judgment. Just someone who's willing to listen. βΈ» People say it gets better. That pain is temporary. That if you just "hold on," things will change. But I've been holding on so tight my hands are bleeding, and nothing's changed- except me. I'm thirteen, and I'm already tired. Not just sleepy. I mean tired in my bones. Tired of pretending school matters. Tired of dodging fists and fake smiles. Tired of being the leftover twin. Kevin was the one people loved. The loud one. The brave one. He used to say we were two halves of the same storm. But he's gone. Drowned in a river we weren't supposed to be near. And I'm still here. Alone. Sometimes I wonder if the wrong twin died. And some days, I know it. My mom won't look at me the same. My dad's fists speak louder than his words. And me? I gave up a long time ago. So I did what you're not supposed to do. I ended it. Only-I didn't. Because I woke up. Again. Same day. Same weight in my chest. Same pain. Now I can't even die right. But then I met her. Skye. And suddenly, dying isn't the hardest part anymore. Living is.

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