If only I could see him. I mean face-to-face. Setting money aside bit by bit will work, but never as fast as I want it to happen.

What if I’m too late?

What if he forgets?

What if I’m not enough?

What if he changes his mind?

…What if he already has?

If only I could tell the other him everything. Let him know that I’m not happy. Sure, I smile and joke. But that’s my defensive layer. You’ve only ever known me when you’ve seen me down, remember that, and count how many times you have. I’ll never love you fully. I can’t. I don’t have anything in me. I know it sounds cheesy and childish, but really.

Laying in bed at night, ringing in my ears:

what have I done? what have I done? what have I done? what have I done?

Lately these suicidal thoughts push. I’m seventeen, I can’t die yet. Intrusive thoughts are wandering around— what it would be like to live on life support in white walls, I wonder. OCD has worsened and I need help, I just can’t ask. One single thought will run around in my head until it exhausts me. These questions I want answers to but afraid to ask.

I’ve began to count. Count what? Nothing. Under my breath and I can’t stop. It makes me feel crazy and different. It makes me feel stupid and weird. Once I start I began to count so feverishly as if I need to outrun something with my words in ones and twos.

“Talk to me,” they say but they won’t stay to hear what I need to express. Hold still, I just need to digest.

Dealing with life and opportunities— will I go to college or not? There’s so much I have to decide, so much I need to do. Yet I’m stuck, still I see a seven year old girl trapped behind a glass. Her palms pushed to its cold surface. She just wants to be the kid she never was. Have the childhood she never had.

I see myself growing, doing things and doing them alone. You think I’d be use to it. I didn’t think being seventeen would be like this. I wish I could go back to sometime else. When no one really cared what I did or who I was with. When I was simply there for no reason, could step out and no one would notice.

I’m starting to think I made a mistake.

…Maybe I should’ve left a few years ago. Before I meant so much to so many people I could care less about.

I. wish. things. were. different.

Hey. If only they were. :)