Jane Be Jane

I know that might drive them away. 

There's a lot I wish I could say to people. I don't know. It always turns out that the people I wish would stick around don't, and I'm left with the people who really care but I just can't seem to care about. I know I'm in a worst place right now. It's the baddest it's been, and it's subtle. It's not like an acute sadness, but that slow, lazy one that wraps around your dreams and your goals and makes it hard to even read a book. It makes it nearly impossible to go out in public without feeling completely anxious and horrified. That's how I feel. Anxious, horrified, worried, upset, sad, lonely, ALONE. Worst. So much I want to say. I know I could say it. I will do the absolute worst thing and post it on the Internet. Because I don't care.

Dear _________,
I'm so sorry. I'm so confused. I'm so horrible. You said you would never give up on me, and I guess I was just pushing you away to prove you wrong. I do that. I push people away hard, just to see who will come back for more, for me. It doesn't get better, trust me. There's not much for  you to stick around for, but I'm trying to appreciate it. I can't internalize love right now, but I think you're one of the only people on this Earth that knows me and still loves me. How do you do that? I think right now I'm trying to still push you away. I want everyone gone, sometimes. I want to be completely alone so, maybe just so I can die. I can't do that now, because people are depending on me. I don't understand you, and I don't love you.
Dear _________,
I'm sorry for being the meanest I can be to you. I hope you find courage to change and relish in the fact that I am doing horribly. I wasn't mad at you, I was mad at somebody else, but I loved him in a weird way that wouldn't allow me to get mad at him. Now I am, but I feel very bad about it. Feel rested knowing that I am hurting now, too. Come visit me.
Dear _________,
Just give up. I know you want to. Sometimes I feel like you're all I've got, and you're sick of that. Hey, you will never get it, will you? You don't know permanent pain, that kind you just live with. You wake up with it, always, sleep, always, in your day. The paranoia and the anxiety. You don't know it. You don't know what it's like for happiness to feel like an impossibility, for it to be an unsure feeling. When I'm happy, I don't understand that feeling, because it's been so rare. I've never known long-time joy. Doesn't stick around. So you shouldn't either.
Dear _______,
Fuck you. Fuck you. You're going through something, I know it, and I still miss that I couldn't have been your friend. Get over it, right? I need to face you. You don't care and it kills me still. You ran away from me, like I did from everyone else. I can't become you, but I know I am. Please die, but please come say anything to me.
Dear _______,
You're a kid. Grow up and learn how to love somebody. If I ever get very bad, I hope you think it's all your fault and I hope you feel miserable because of me. I hope you can't sleep because of me. But me? To you? Me to you is just a number. Just a name you think of when you think of groups. You couldn't love me, and I get that. But what sucks is that I tried so hard to be good for you. I never do that. I did it for you, and you threw me away. Thanks for teaching me that love and caring are the most useless things in the world. Thanks for changing my life in the most negative way possible.

Today I hate everyone.