I couldn’t handle anyone trying to get close.
The pieces were too sharp.
• • •
I was scared.
Not of being with people.
Of what would happen without them.
So I floated.
Existed.
Just barely.
But enough.
School. Club.
The vast blankness of lying in bed staring at the wall.
• • •
Sometimes I took an extra pill.
To take the edge off.
Because the prescribed amount wasn’t always enough.
Because some nights the numbness wore thin and everything underneath came rushing back and I needed it gone again.
It worked.
That was the problem.
• • •
Eight years.
Gone.
Like I was nothing.
I can’t say they were wasted.
Even now, as small and shattered as I feel, I can’t make myself believe that.
I’m glad I loved him.
So completely.
So stupidly.
I just —
• • •
