When I tried to kill myself the first time, I was unconscious for about 40 minutes before I came back, that’s what I’m told anyway. Now I believe I am 40 minutes late for everything. Sometimes I think that in a parallel universe, where I haven’t tried to destroy myself, I am happy because I wouldn’t miss friends, and be late to school, and I would be at the right place at the right time to meet the right person. But I’m not in a fucking parallel universe, and I guess everything was too late from the moment I became me, which was probably when I was conceived.
I think that the reason you used to find me fascinating is because it seemed challenging to try to pull me out of my own head, or down from the clouds. You tried and tried to convince me that I would be safe with you outside of my own comfort zone. I guess I always give the benefit of the doubt if a guy is sexy and emotionally appealing enough, but it usually turns out the same way, and it did with you. My most appealing characteristic is probably my unapproachability, once that challenge is conquered I am no longer interesting, I am left alone again. This is fucking terrifying. Why did you talk to me, and lure me out of my head, and touch me? I loved it though, I love to be touched, it still wasn’t worth it in the end to come out of my comfort zone if I am going to feel betrayed and cold, like standing barefoot on a concrete floor in the winter. You made me feel stupid. Then I started drinking a lot, and my comfort zone collapsed completely, or expanded, even to the bodies of men. Nothing could frighten me anymore. That’s the scariest part of it all. Now I am only afraid of myself. I don’t feel invincible, but I don’t care for life or for death. I just think, ‘fuck it’.
