Third post of the day.

I see the hallway surrounding me, but I don't feel the locker against my back, or the keys of my laptop as I type out my story, or the wind that the small crowd of alumni whip up as they flutter about the school, reminiscing and laughing.

I can't remember the last time I felt alright.

You took me there, too. I bet you don't even remember. You're so pathetic. It was less than two years ago and yet you act like it didn't happen to begin with. I bet you don't even realize how destroyed I've become. I bet if you did you wouldn't care. You don't care. You never cared.

I'm at a loss of how to begin. I don't want to start, and I don't want to stop, I just want to go back to the way things were in 8th grade, they were so much simpler. With the simplicity, I suppose, comes the pain, but I still wish I could go back. I wouldn't live in this disaster if you paid me three million bucks. I'm a car crash. I'm a sellout. I'm a fraud. I'm a loner. I need someone so badly, just to tell me that I'm going to be okay, but I need them to mean it. 

I'm sitting in a hallway, in a corner by the photo room, I probably should have gone back to Chem but it's too late now. I see an old friend of mine, we were golden, we were so close, we were best friends. I miss her. I look at her, her pride and her success, and then I look at the body that is below me, the stained jeans that are growing bigger and the lungs that are growing blacker, the nails that are getting sharper and the disaster I'm becoming. You could argue that I'm being dealt a bad hand. I would argue back that I've done this all to myself.