she says, “don’t let the past haunt you” but that’s easier said than done.
she says, “you shouldn’t care what anyone else says” but i still do. [/scrap]
it’s a sunday morning and we’re walking together until i decide to grow some guts. the morning is perfect and inside i frown, but outwardly i don’t make a face. he takes the news and i wait.
(i’m not perfect but i try to be. around these kids i try to blend in, be just like these perfect kids where the worst thing they’ve done is lie to their parents that they were studying for that AP physics test. but it’s no use because inside i know i’m just a cheap imitation of them. cheap imitation cute kid who looks so innocent. but i’m not.
because i know what i’ve done and every day i regret it.)
he says, “dont let the past haunt you,” but it still does.
he says, “it’s okay, you’re not that person anymore” but addiction never dies. and he doesn’t even know what kind of addictions i’ve struggled because smoking a cigarette is the worst thing he thinks i’ve done.
but he doesn’t even know.
i thank him for his advice and i’m relieved that he doesn’t ostracize me. i guess he’s not supposed to because we’re friends but my stomach can’t help but flip and churn at his good reaction.
(it’s not like i’m some child molester and i’ve never murdered anyone, but there are things that are sick and stupid and never quite fade away. stupid things like how i used to cut myself and now the scars are here to stay. and every day it’s always the same, i can see the white lines running rigid bumps along my skin and i just can’t. and i know i’m sick because the rest of my perfect friends don’t get off on rape porn.)
he says, “just don’t give into temptation” but i know i will. addicts like me, we’re not born perfect and no matter how hard we try, we’ll never be able to let go. there’s this thing called recovery but i can’t even pretend like i could stick with it. i go to church every week and every time i’m there i’m reminded of how terrible i am, how unlike the rest of them i am.
he says, “you’re my friend and i care for you” but why is it that he doesn’t give a fuck about what i have to say? i could tell him that i shoot heroin and put my finger in the pencil sharpener for fun and he’d just laugh it off and move on and tell me about his perfect girl and how cute she is.
he says again, “you are my friend.” he’s trying to act like he doesn’t hate me, and i stare into his eyes looking for his repulsion at me. i was never very good at finding emotions, but i can see the fear in his eyes of me. i imagine that he’s thinking he doesn’t want to be like me, if he hangs around me enough and i’m like a virus.
i nod my head and apologize. “i didn’t mean to dump this all on you. i just had to let it out.” the fear dissapates then, so he nods back stiffly. and then the worst comes to worst.
“by the way, my girlfriend did the cutest thing yesterday…”
and all i can do is smile this fake smile with this nightmare running in my head over and over again.
