NaBloPoMo Day Four: Furiously Washing My Hands Over and Over

My hands are dirty. They must be cleaned. If I'm feeling good to myself, I wash them with warm water. If I need punishment, I wash them in cold. The cold reminds me of how pain can quickly turn into numbness, which is important to remember, to remember that pain can be put aside. The warm water is there to nourish my skin. I feel like I need to gain control over something in my life. I feel like I've let too many germs seep into my soul through my hands. Holding hands, typing, writing and drawing. I need to take control.

I found out this morning that everything I've been living for, for the past two years, was a lie. It was Diantha behind the genius I fell so in love with, and based my entire future upon. Now, I have no idea what I'm going to do. Where will I go to college? How will I even survive college? I won't have any money. I won't have anywhere to live. My entire life for four whole years will be spent on a campus, living between my tiny home and my classes, with no social association, because it all will be spent on working a job and working on the multiple scholarships I'll have to get. I have no idea what I'm going to do.

Yesterday, you could have asked me, "Where are you going after high school?" And I could have told you in terms of driving directions. I could have told you my entire plans and they would be solid. But today? Everything has gone away. I'm lost.

And of course, no help is it to know that the Boyfriend and I broke up. We broke up, and I encouraged him to pursue the relationship with Frankie that I made them stop. I don't know why I did. I must have thought that this would last. That we could make things work enough that he and I would be going to prom in thirteen days. But it didn't. We couldn't do it. So he, of course, will be with her and be happy, while I sit at home not knowing who I am or what I'm living for. I've lost everyone I loved in a 24-hour period, and then Diantha told me she was going to kill herself.

I put aside everything when I heard that. I put everything aside and tears began drowning my face. Everyone was leaving me. I called Diantha's phone to no answer, panic. I called my mother's phone to no answer, panic. I called my house and my mom answered. She gave me Diantha's home phone number and Diantha's mom answered. Panic. I worried. She said Diantha was asleep. My heart skipped a beat, what if she wasn't truly asleep? I didn't want to be on the phone with my best friend's mother when she found her daughter dead. I explained to her, breathless, how I was just concerned about a MySpace bulletin she'd posted and was glad to hear that she was alright, and then Diantha's mom gave her the phone.

This week, I've spent a lot of time on the telephone with people who are crying. It always sounded so pitiful that I convinced myself no such thing was going to happen with me. I wasn't going to be the kind of person to sob to a receiver for an hour.

So I said to her, "I'm very glad that you are alright, and... I don't know what else to say." I didn't know how to tell her that my soul was crushed. My throat was closing and choking up, I'd been hyperventilating for too long or not long enough, thus, the only thing I could think to do was tell her once again it was good to hear she wasn't deceased, and hang up. Which I did.

I feel empty. All of the people I loved are either gone, or have been lying to me for a long, long time. I don't think I can trust anyone anymore. I don't think I can ever fall in love again. Not the same way I did with The Boy Who Wasn't. I am cold. I am lifeless. I don't know how I'm going to continue the NaBloPoMo without sounding like an unmedicated mess.

Perhaps I should bring this blog post to my next therapist visit, as proof that I need her help with a little bug named Prozac.