One thing is true about mental illness. When your symptoms flare up, you sure find out who the fuck your friends are.
This is why I don't open myself up very often. I very quickly learn that other people really, really, really don't "get it."
This picture comes from this website, which has some very important information on violence in teen relationships.
I chose it because to a degree it expresses what I feel inside.
Because of the fact that nobody pays attention to what I say at this point, I feel comfortable expressing something that has been eating at me for years.
There are people in this world who don't feel like they've won unless they've destroyed someone else in the process.
They did come very close to destroying me. But I'm still here. Not unscathed by any means, but I am still here.
I no longer feel like I have something special to share with the world. I'm creating again, but I'm keeping it close in. I will not be sharing any of it.
As for the subject of my ill advised book.
Yes, I did come to love him. And fancy that, certain people who I trusted with that truth were hell bent on fucking that up for me too.
He and I are no longer in contact with one another. He hates me now, and I feel nothing but numb sorrow when I think of him.
You think I could ever forgive the people who brought this about?
They will never be forgiven.
What's next to the moon? The idea that I will ever find love.
Correction--that's somewhere in another fucking galaxy.
So now you fucking know.
