This is Me

I guess this is kind of a diary. Delly did this first and I thought I should do one too.

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6. 6

Oh look, two in one night, I'm gonna win a prize for the most updates to a movella that's essentially a bad mood diary

If there was one word that represents me, any word at all, it'd be please.

Please.

It seems stupid. But it's me. When I'm hunched over, crying, it's all I think. When I'm screaming inside but my throat can only squeeze out one word, it's all I can say. 

Please.

I say it when I'm in my darkest moments. I don't even fucking know why. It's just there. A hope of something, anything, I suppose. Look at me, trying to psychoanalyse myself. I'm so pathetic.

I am. I'm pathetic. I talk big, act big, but inside I'm terrified, all the time. When it comes to actually doing something, my brain's spent so long imagining scenarios in which I don't have to do it that I lose the ability to.

Ever heard of the slippery slope? That's what goes on inside my head. What could happen that would mean I didn't have to do my homework? Maybe I go home sick, maybe I get terminally ill, maybe a family member gets terminally ill, maybe a family member dies, maybe I die.

All that, to avoid doing homework. I imagine it in such vivid detail, if any of it really happened, I don't think I'd feel anything at all.

I guess that's another problem with me.

When it really matters, I don't feel. I just take in what happens, analysing it. It's only later when it sinks in.

Like when my Mum's friend died. She told me the news when I was watching TV. It sort of registered and a small part of me was thinking I should get up, go into the kitchen where she was crying, but I didn't. I wasn't even that close to him, but he was the sort of person to leave a big impression. He was so full of life. Or, I guess, maybe not.

But the next morning, I was walking to school and someone asked me if I was alright and I just broke. I kept crying. I couldn't stop. That's when it hit me that he was gone.

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