~ a confession ~

You were once my best friend. I was jealous of you then, and I am jealous of you now, but not in the same way. Then I wanted your confidence, your presence. I wanted people to see me. Then I was your friend, not a person to be noticed. I was there, but not cared for or about. Now, I see your life and think, “What is the use of mine?” I think, “They have what I want. Will I ever get it?” I think, “Is my life even worth living?”

I know the dull ache of being lonely in a crowd, even when the room is filled with people you’ve known for years. But these people, at some point, stopped being my people. I’m not sure when it was exactly, but it happened. Their names, their faces, and the rudimentary parts of their lives are facts I’ve retained, but our lives are almost completely divorced from each other. They don’t know me anymore.

In my head, I’m screaming. I want quiet and noise, to be a part of the fun yet left alone. My brain struggles to find center, knows too much, wants to ignore it. So I ignore it, and stop myself from screaming at my friends.

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