Denial

For the most part I completely agreed with the social stigma that exes are supposed to be these demonic human beings whom of which you never want to see or hear from again. People that suddenly are supposed to mean nothing to you even if they used to be the only thing holding you upright.
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After the last month and a half I couldn't disagree with that idea more. I don't talk to her anywhere near as much as when we were together— when I was happy. Even if that's the case if I allowed myself, I would still be texting her day and night. I still talk about her just as reverent as before. I'll still bring her up and talk about just how amazing everything was— was.... When we were together if I subtracted the hormones really I had the greatest friend in the world and I've realized that's the part of her I can't stand living without— sure I find a random excuse to text her and pretend like everything is back to normal— Oh god how those few minutes become so refreshing!

The saddest part is that I'm too afraid to admit how much I just simply miss talking with her. That special bond, it's just something you can't search for and replace. No Matter the number of nameless hips, sushi dinners, and outdated pick up lines gone through I know none of them could live up to her. So I get irritated, act like it's their fault when in fact I'm trying to recreate the past; feeling obligated to move on by my passing surroundings. I have to sit there and pretend like she doesn't Still have the power to make me fall to my knees and sob.
I know I can't relive the past. It's never been anyone's fault. The universe is uncontrollable. No matter how much of grip on reality us humans think we have something in the atmosphere won't hesitate to rip it away from us. I have to sit there and decide whether it's just simply missing her or if I've somehow fallen in love with our memories. Even knowing all that a part of me is convinced that somehow some Blondie can fix all that, as if a simple 'blow and go' from that girl that says we're only friends can distract from the loneliness, somehow this idea that I've lied  myself into believing that a 'meaningful conversation' with all these other people could magically equate to that Flower-Named Goddess I still catch myself worshipping on accident—My scars constantly twitch expecting a new younger sibling to force itself into the foster home of suffering that is this body. They won't get one. This time is different. This whole time has always been different. This time... I have nothing to deny anymore.

Apathy

I feel nailed down to my bed by the weight of anxiety. I feel no tiredness yet I have no motivation to move from my bed until well into the afternoon. Food stopped tasting good. Gallons upon gallons of caffeine is the only thing that can get me to move anymore. And to hell with any sort of libido just the sheer mention of it is damn near sickening. I somehow find a motionless, white, ceiling more fun to watch than any show or movie. All of the joy has vanished.
Company of other humans can be a pleasant distraction. That is, if I'm Willing to burden them with my horrid presence. Perhaps me viewing myself as a bother to everyone causes it to become more accurate of a thought each day. Or perhaps I've just always been this pointless of a person. I can't even muster up the motivation to die, probably the best ending for everyone. If I'm not moping, I'm just silent, I can't help but bring my issues into every conversation just adding unnecessary weight to everyone else's lives . It's impossible for my sanity to win. The whole situation is a big paradox. If I don't express it I'll feel like shit. But when I pester people for help I feel like shit for bothering them. Everyone's life is hard, not just my own. Still knowing that Doesn't seem to change a thing. What the fuck.

Hatred

Nyctophilia is not merely the love of the night sky but rather getting used to it. Becoming at one with it since it is the only one to keep you company at night. It is settling for the loneliness brought upon by the unwantingness that your aura exemplifies. You wait, and wait, and wait with an anxiety burning so heavily inside you you can't stand still. You don't even feel all that depressed but the constant worry is maddening.

"There's a whole world to explore yet you live in solitary confinement. Forced by your mind. To you, you're simply doing the world a favor, evidently none of them could bare your putrid expression you call a face. You wonder why you're so alone like it's some huge mystery when in fact the whole universe can tell. You don't like being around yourself so how can you expect the rest of the world to?
That's your fault too. Relying on their validation. It all matters and it all doesn't matter at the same time. What are you going to do? Cry? Die? Good luck trying, I enjoy seeing you suffer.  You've earned it; For eternity, obviously since no one is ever going to "save you" or whatever. What's That? Your head hurts? It's called insomnia. And my fucking eyes hurt from looking at you, you goddamn sack of dogshit.  I hate you so fucking much I can't stand it."

I turn away from the It just to try and clear my mind. "Why can't he just die already? The world is so much better off." I decide to take matters into my own hands. I grab the biggest knife I can find and throw it as hard as possible towards It looking away immediately to avoid the blood. All went silent. Except for the sound of shattered glass striking floor, where the mirror used to be.

Friendship

Gwyndolin has come a long way from before. No longer wasting his time on the same girl that acts as though he were a yo-yo; each downward spiral becoming more violent than the last.  He has sought new aspirations or rather switched focus to a girl whom he'd always liked just never got up the courage to talk to. The butterflies in his stomach began to act like wasps, adding a sting of regret for not doing this sooner. To his surprise, upon speaking with her she actually responded, not instantly hating him right away. She wasn't one of those girls who was all about dating in relationships. She simply didn't care, and was somehow content with being single. That's what Gwyn liked about her most. It was an almost envious feeling due to his constant turmoil. Disregarding his crush on her, the only goal was a strong, reliable friendship. Which if provided properly, nullifies the need for an actual relationship. He just wants someone to be there for him. It was impossible to sexualize her. It's never been what he wanted. To him it was such a simple concept. Month's pass with only sparse conversations between them. They were short, but still became the highlight of his day. Eventually things became troublesome. Worries flooded his neural networks day and night. Spending whole evenings lying awake trying to play out and predict in his head how the next conversation would go. To ease this, Gwyn goes and does his best to make plans with her, obviously if they were just friends it shouldn't matter right? I couple weeks go by and the day had finally come. It had all worked out for once. He waits for her at a Brew Ha-Ha close by. For once in his life a girl hadn't flaked on their plans with him.  Gwyn ordered a double shot Latte. His favorite. He was so ecstatic to spend time with her, meanwhile she ordered Hot chocolate, she hated the bitterness of coffee. Almost like the way she cured Gwyn's bitterness. A couple hours went by of talking, one refill on the latte ensued. They talked about their perspectives on the meaning of life, living in trees, to even starting fictional businesses together. I've never seen him happier.
Dusk ominously approachs them. He wanted to stay in that moment for the rest of his life. Gwyndolin starts to drive her home when they both notice how clear the night sky was. Instead of driving her home, they drove to his house.  The night went on after they arrived as they got closer together, Becoming more sweaty bouncing up and down repeatedly. The two of them loved being on a trampoline. There had been no moon that night. All the stars could shine to their content without worry of being overlooked so easily. The two spent the remainder of their time simply laying there laughing like hyenas as the conversations grew more outlandish. She lay her head on his shoulder as they argue about why Crabs are seen as cancerous. Gwyndolin just smiled, knowing this had become what he had always wanted. Not a relationship, but the perfect friendship.

He awoke the next day immediately jumping at his phone to talk with her about the joys of the day before. However her number was suddenly gone. And the trampoline had disappeared. He checks his arm to notice how the scars still haven't healed, if anything they've reopened. The realization that everything was a dream was soul crushing enough. Gwyn also knew that it would never actually have the chance to happen. Which only made it even worse. He still had his originally best friend. He hadn't gone anywhere. He's always been there. Depression would always love Gwyndolin. No matter what.

The Things I'm Scared to Say Vol. II

I make a lot of stupid decisions. My first one is writing this. My second, is knowing I'll eventually have you read this even though it'll probably ruin any stability our friendship is standing on; if any. This isn't some sappy poem confessing a love for you. Nor is this a chamber of secrets where I've somehow lied or wronged you. Simply, I heavily regret not trying to become closer friends with you sooner. Assuming we're close at all. I would have been so much better off with a support like you, a friend like you. But I'm always nervous around you. Literally always. Ever since I met you, butterflies flood my stomach, my hands get sweaty, i Start to studder, and the list goes on. On top of that I'm scared shitless of annoying you or becoming a bother to you. You always seem busy. Plus I can't tell if you secretly hate my existence or not.
Surprisingly In the anxiety ridden moments when I'm around you; I've never felt better. It's impossible to be depressed around you. I love spending time with you. You're just so content with life. I just want to have that close friendship with you, I know it sounds a hell of a lot like dating territory and I'm trying to steer my emotions away from that. I just want someone to stay up with and be philosophical about life, someone to drink hot chocolate with and have none of the tension that dating brings. In short, I'm super awkward. You're super awesome, and i just wish I could be around you more often. Life looks prettier that way.

Antidepressant (Holium-Lithium)

I hate change. Yet it seems to be all my life has been filled with recently. Change in relationships, change in grades, change in hormones, mental chemicals, even a change in my number of family members. But for the last three years, I've noticed one small constant. My antidepressant. It's not always available. In fact it's extremely sparse. It's dose's vary. In the beginning the dose was just some butterflies in my stomach. Then came actual conversations and that had severe side effect of nervousness and and anxiety, just adding awkwardness to the ambiance of the biology classroom. I've always said weird shit at the end of every administered dose. Which in turn just lengthed the time before I would receive my next one. In year two I actually never received my antidepressants. that's when I needed them most. I always fear bothering my doctor. I feel like it's such a hassle to get their attention. On second thought I did have one dose in year two. after this it's no wonder I didn't get another. After the dose of a 3 hour conversation I sat there hanging on to it like some sort of addict. I suppose that's just desperation. As of the beginning of year three it seems my pharmacist is giving me a clean slate with a few doses already. They've been very small but had a big impact. It's so strange, just thirty seconds and everything seems to disappear. It's as if there's a force field that even when I'm in a small proximity of it I can start feeling better. Of course all these doses are platonic. I have a knack for taking a platonic dose of these and giving a non-platonic product. I have a large dose on the way. I'm not sure when it'll arrive or if it even will ship out. But I need to control it. This dose could finally make the medication no longer have temporary effects.
I don't need some crazy drug with tons of chemicals that just work of hormones and want nothing more than to repeatedly fuck like brain dead dogs. My medication is simple. All it does is listen, distract me and make me laugh. That's all anyone's antidepressant needs to do.

Typical Teenage Rant

For some reason, life has a continuity of depressives. Regardless of how Long you try to suppress them. Dealing with them is just as difficult. The only 'end all's solution to this sort of things literally ends it all. The things you always want proceed to always disappear. Always. In my case it happens to be women. In my eyes it's not that difficult of a solution. I don't want whores, at This point I don't even want love or any of that teenage relationship bullshit. Just a friend. Just a girl that's there for me. Hell, it's the only thing i need out of dating anyways. They either want nothing to do with me or they just want to be stuffed. It's fuckin' ridiculous honestly. I'm so sick of it. Fuck you society and your bullshit standards. I actually want a legitimate female friend. It shouldn't be weird to just hangout all because where I piss out of has some extra pieces. We're both people so who the fuck cares. It's established as platonic so it shouldn't be a goddamn problem.

The Illusionist

There are little to no boundaries that separate our sense of reality from illusions. Our lives are as we make them; as we perceive them. Illusions are also made up, and by whom? Us of course. So how in the hell are we supposed to know the difference? We don't nor will we. Our world is constructed of nothing but meer imagination. Things humans have mentally made appear out of thin air and writing it down seems to suddenly make it true. For instance, laws. Why are they 'right', so to speak? Because we feel that they're right. We feel that we've done something wrong when in reality guilt is only a byproduct of humans. So what happens when there is no byproduct? If everything is made up and no real values exist other than that of which  assign, by definition a murderer is not wrong if they do not feel as though. Our made up little world's are so ridiculous. Who in the fuck suddenly decided animal abuse was more tragic and deserves more attention than child abuse? All because we some how believe we actually have control over our lives. We don't. What has happened Will always happen and what ever is going to happen has already happened. The fact that history repeating itself is a recognizable phrase is sickening. It's a giant sticker to how goddamn ignorant humans are. They can't even learn from there mistakes properly. So, what do they do? They recognize it, they get angry, they call it out, rebel, and all for nothing. Because once it is all over and done with everything goes back to normal. As If I wasn't just pissed off at the start of this.

Spiders

Fans of these creatures are seen as crazy. People generally want to avoid them and even kill them. Let alone knowingly live with one. Despite all its legs for support the spider is fragile. The webs it spins are selfish, they only support the spider and can be destroyed with the bat of a human eyelash. All a spider wants is warmth. They die out in the cold. They need companionship, the mark it leaves may be a slight burden for you but it's security for the spider. Why else would they constantly build webs if not to just capture some company? The spider knows deep down how frivolous the ideal is. That no matter how strong the web, now matter how severe the mark is made, they always get away—every time. Spiders are so alone we call them reclusive just so that we do not sympathize for something so hideous and vial. The spiders needs and wants are almost entirely overlooked all because they are a small inconvenience. Humans feel threatened by that which only needs a friend. As I have said spiders are indeed fragile. As such, I don't have many legs left supporting me. My web has become unraveled as everything escaped. They just pretend to be stuck in the web because they pity me. We spiders are not reclusive. We are abandoned.

Dawn

Sunlight is a ubiquitous symbol for happiness. Yet it never actually brings it to someone. At least Not usually. The moments you need the sun most it is never there. Only the false gleam bouncing off the moon as if a simple reflection could be powerful enough to vanquish your darkest hours. So you sit there. Looking up at the night sky, unable to feel welcomed by the stars because you know that they've already burned out because life travels faster than light does. So you wait what feels like centuries, no sense of time with nothing but darkness around you.
More light suddenly approaches. A common mistake, being too pessimistic to pay attention to any of the details around you. The fact that the sun might have been growing something. It now holds onto your hand. You fear to look over because you expect it to hurt you like everything else. It grabs your arm. Except... It's not sharp this time. Something, soft is actually against it. You finally decide to look over. You see the one thing that you never knew you needed in the first place. You can rest now. You know that this is how it's supposed to be. Dawn arrives, thanks to your very own Daisy.