Be Brave: Grow Up

Betrayal.

I don't feel so sad anymore. I don't feel despair. Not pain. I'm not even mad. I can't claim that I am numb either.

I am furious.

I am livid.

I am breaking.

I am falling.

I am being torn apart.

I thought I was strong enough but believe me, I'm not.

I thought I could shoulder the hurt and pain and fear and anger but I can't. I am 17 years old. I am young. I should be smiling. I should be happy. I shouldn't be living with tears streaming down my face. This is too much for me, for anyone. I'm still a little girl. I can control it around others but not alone.

And I'm so irate all of the time. I abhor that which I have been given, the life I'm being forced to live.

"How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is it that clinging love we have of life even in the excess of misery!"

I'll take care of you if you ask me to. The burden is astronomical. I fear the unknown. I fear this world. I fear all of the horrors it has. It was you who showed me at such a young age how despicable it is. You, who taught me thoughts of death, and hate, and self-detestation, have nothing more to offer. I fear death. I fear a slow, empty existence. I absolutely shake in terror of being alone.

"Hell is empty. All the devils are here."

So much resentment pent up in me. So many hellish emotions that there won't ever be enough room.

And yet I'm fated to pretend.

"Come on, skinny love, just last the year."