July, July...

First night of the month, of my month. My birthday month. One of the months that I've been waiting on all year because it means it is summer and I am supposed to be enjoying my summer. No school, no homework, no worries till late August, and I am supposed to be happily working on my novel, and being overall cad about town with going out and having fun, misadventures with friends and such. Summer with the summer lusting.

Not this July. A day into the new month and I am not the image of what I'm supposed to be, carefree summer girl. That summer girl is gone, baby. Just gone.

I'm dying inside.

I need to be able to breathe again.

If it's not the hurt ravaging my heart, breaking it further into pieces I can't, I won't even look at to pick up, I'm numb. Numb and faking how I am every day, feeling nothing. Just numb, automatic responses on cue, and I am lying. Faking it because I am in that place where I am shocked, just numb.

But breathing, to feel any semblance of anything beyond this hurt, to break through to that I have to do something stupid or find something that will define me, if only for a few moments.

The last time I felt alive, I felt real, felt happiness, felt myself become define. I remember that too well. I don't want to remember that because it only hurts me more. It reminds me and right now I don't need to be reminded. I need to forget.


"Let's not forget ourselves, good friend. You and I were almost dead,
and he's better off for leaving, yeah he's better off for leaving..."

I fear that in a few years I will not know myself and become the living embodiment of a favorite song of mine. It's sweet to aspire to become a song in life, but it's fuck up when the song that you see yourself becoming is fucked up because it means you think you yourself are fucked up.

Fuck.

Haha, what's ironic is that if I had just stuck to doing that, I would be just fine right now.

Would I?