She loves the rush, it creeps over her, better than anything else she has ever felt. A million pinches of pure delight, its the only thing that makes her self-awareness go away. When it stops she can’t stop thinking about her flaws. And that is all she sees, the flaws. But then, nobody has ever
pointed out the good in her so she’s probably right in nitpicking at her self.
Oh god, she’s so ugly. How can anyone be so ugly. She avoids saying more than what is absolutely necessary to the point that she goes days without speaking more than a few words. Nobody cares, she’s nothing anyway isnt she? Just like people tell her. You’re a nothing, a ****ing nothing.
She isnt totally without words though. She constructs elaborate dialogues in her head, different situations where a pretty, outgoing version of herself reigns. This person is never tongue-tied, she never stumbles, never keeps her head down because she hates her face.
So many lives, all in her head. She knows it’s abnormal but she isn’t crazy yet. When will she cross the line?
All those hours spent in her room dreaming of something better. It is the only time she feels she can say anything, do anything. She becomes somebody special. The confidence carries over sometimes but one
stumble of the tongue and she’s be back to being invisible, trying to fold herself into herself, trying so hard to be somebody she’s not. Why does nobody understand? Cant they see what she is going through on her face?
I’ve never felt any sympathy for her. No pity, no desire to help her. I am so much better than her, everything she wants to be. It makes me laugh, the pathetic bitch. Hher face, it makes me want to kick it in.
How much longer can she pretend? I want to push her over the edge. The pretending is all she has, she can convince herself she can be better, that she can try to be normal but she convinces nobody. Nobody will ever believe her. I make her push herself over the edge, destroy her body, she’s useless. She’ll never get anywhere. She’s nothing.
The pretending drives her crazy, she cant carry it on longer. It’s wrong, but she cant accept herself either. Who is she? Little shards of glass prick her skin. Her feet bleed as she runs but nobody cares, nobody even turns to look. She’s invisible, she’ll live out her life hiding, pretending, torturing herself, living out a million lives in her head but
who gives a **** about her?
She can keep on running but she has nowhere to go. Running to her own end. She hates herself but is too afraid of ending her life, why her? Why does she have to feel this way? how can she make the feelings stop? She is breaking inside, she’ll never survive. I’ll never let her.