Its killing me.....I hate them. There are only two people anymore that I really can even bear to be around..... And they know who they are. And one of them i'm not exactly around... Liz... Natasha... Everyone else around me right now can fuck off and die. Just the people I go to school with and personally know and associate with on a regular basis.... And him, oh he thinks he understands the pain. He has no fucking idea. Just because his knee hurts today... he argues that his hurts more than mine. I yell at him. "DON'T FUCKING TELL ME WHAT I FEEL. YOU'RE NOT ME YOU CAN'T POSSIBLY UNDERSTAND MY PAIN." and... clearly there... i'm not just talking about my knee. I am sad... I should go to the doctor's and tell her how I feel. Then she'd give me back some pills and I can take them and show everyone that I can be better... Just take the pills to numb the inside while the outside smiles. They won't know how sick I am. It's December now... the holidays are coming... suicide rates go up... I have no faith left in me. It's just a generally depressing time of year for me. I'm shivery today and the weather is bleary and depressing... My knee hurts... I have a pain in my side... kidneys probably, a throbbing headache and too many thoughts to keep track of. If you werent holding hands Monday, if you only want friends with him, why do you follow him today and lean on his shoulder and move over into the corners and have one hand from each of you disappear under the table space where I cannot see? why do you pile your back pack on your lap and hide your hands again? Why, if what I think is what is happening, do you insist on lying to me more? Do you think I'll kill myself? Do you think I'll hate you? If I did, why would you care. Why would you hide it from me again and again and again and again and again? If you tell me I'm your "friend no doubt" why would you lie? It hurts me... What hurts me more than that is the fact that... it does... And.... that I can't just break down and let it all out at you. I hug my knees in the shower and write on the wall in red lipstick and wipe at it with my hands because I don't have the guts to cut anymore, I scream to the suicidal songs blaring so that she can't hear me, I let the tears come there. I can't write it in my journal... I'm afraid to write it anywhere around here for fear that you'll find it again like you did before....... I just hide in myself it feels like... my existence is becoming words.... worthless little words