I have been tip-toeing around here for what feels like centuries. I don't want to moan and I don't want to complain or to thrash things out with myself so I do nothing at all because positivity doesn't really come as a feasible option anymore. My heart, my head - my whole body - they are all broken in many more ways than one, and I can't believe that I'm saying this, but I would bring back the days when it was purely emotional if I could. It is physical and I feel old. I am the youngest of all of my friends, sometimes by five or six years, and I feel so goddamn fucking old it kills me. Do you know how many people have told me in the past year that I am their best friend? That I am their favourite person in the whole world? I am not boasting and I am not trying to better myself to you. It is just fact that I am told this much too often when I can't even once return the favour. How beautiful it must be to be able to hold another in such high esteem, but how false is it? Is it just words in the air, something thrown about at three in the morning when I'm the only one still standing up? I am not what anybody believes and expects of me. I say that I don't know what or where these people have gotten their opinions of me from. But I do know, I have always known. It has been me - of me and from me. It has been the way I have breathed and I have laughed for these two decades and the ways in which I have held my tongue and swallowed back the blood. It has been the lack of conversation when there is no good to comment on. It has been the quiet when there is nothing at all to say, where they once stumbled to fill the gaps but only now realise that silence really is the most ridiculous worry to have when in company. I sometimes imagine that others can really feel my thoughts, that if I'm so hush hush quiet that they can feel me, that my blood literally rushes through their veins through some invisible connecting pipeline, but the thought always disappears before I can really, truly feel it. I'm not sure when drinking became important and I don't know why I can only ever see my friends once a week on a Saturday evening after the hour of ten o' clock. This is fake, this is so fucking fake. I can't drink anymore, or I refuse to drink, because my heart is weak. Every time I lie down at night, I need noise because I can feel my heart pulsing everywhere in my whole body, but not even in a nice way. It's not something that reminds me that I am alive. It only serves to remind me that I am so very fragile, that we all are. I am not sure that I will be here in a year, or in six months because I am physically unwell and nobody can figure out why I am sick and why I am in pain. It's almost been three years since I tried to kill myself now and my way of being has completely removed itself from the way it used to be. Where I used to cry because I couldn't handle being alive, I have found tears from being afraid that I might not live anymore. Of course, I feel lonely because I have built myself a character that cannot be cracked or chiseled down into something softer. Of all the people that are supposed to love me more than anything or anybody else in the world, not one has called, not one has told me that they care and that they are here to talk and that they are praying for me. I know those things to be the height of what they will offer, or could offer, and it would mean the world to me. But it will never work because they want to talk and I don't. I want the silence, the comfort in silent company. I want the dark, the almost solitude which is broken by somebody else's breath, the feeling of somebody else's blood in my veins. I don't want to be told I'm loved because they believe it to be an easy thing to do. I want to be acknowledged and understood but please don't once tell me that I have to talk. You'll understand one day, little girl.