Oh.

Now I know why.
These echos that still haunt me, the screams that constantly sing my insufficiency. I can't think of a time I wanted to hurt myself more. Maybe its just characteristic of pain, of heart ache, of sickness.

I almost told someone today. I was tearing away the last trinkets, the final gifts, practically shouting the futility of romantic relationships. Sebastian was staring. He expressed that he thought I was improvising a soap. I would have corrected him, but the bell rang.

The thing with telling people is that they always understand in their own contexts. They say "Oh great noodle flakes, its so true" but because of their own relationships. The only person who shares this kind of hurt... is you. And you, you can't matter.

I don't want my circumstances right now. Math team, stats, ELA, humanities... I can deal with them, but I hate waking up every morning in complete opposition to the idea of making progress. I want to give up. I tried so hard, but the little advancement I make in cold, miserable perseverance is always erased in a single night's indulgences. Like, that condom was hilarious. So many parts of my days are funny and enjoyable, but it all falls barely short of meaningless. I don't want to participate. I'm so tired.

On good days, I do.
But only because I'm not done dealing my share of heartbreak.