Britney

I don’t know what I want, but I pretend that I do so I won’t get caught up in myself again, so I can’t get so wrapped up in my own problems that they smother me. I escape the trap by faking it.

I pretend that it’s freshman year again—minus all the unimportant or unpleasant parts—and that my best friend hasn’t yet moved away, that another friend hasn’t drifted away so fast that I barely had time to register it, and that I didn’t ruin a third friendship with my feelings. I stay up later than I say I will to watch movies I’ve never seen before or listen to albums I’ve never heard. I want to pierce the stagnation and welcome in fresh air so I can’t dwell on how many friends I have, and how many of them actually want to be my friend.

I’m sick of repeating myself. I’m sick of feeling like my life is stale. I’m sick of letting my emotions rip me apart and then covering it all up. ♦