Quiet rooms are filled with the worst type of silence. It’s the unspoken that lingers in the air; the rush of nothing. It’s the time to think and think about nothing. It’s the worst type of quiet. I welcome it and repulse it, knowing that I’m going to have to think about the things that I keep tucked away, hidden. This time, last year, a day ago, was the last time I saw my late boyfriend. Tomorrow will be the last day I talked to him. August 30th was when he most likely died, since he was found a few days after he died. September 2nd is when they found him. September 8th is the day of his funeral. And God, I just miss him so much. He was my everything back then. He helped me get through so much. And yes, he lied to me about doing drugs and then died from a coke overdose, but he was my everything. I was so in love with him, I can barely stand it. It was a quick, torrid love affair with a purpose. I needed someone and he needed someone and we found that someone in each other. I guess I just wasn’t enough of the something he needed. God, I wish I had been. I partly blame myself for his death because if I had been a better girlfriend, a better everything, maybe he wouldn’t have needed the drugs. Why wasn’t I good enough? God, why couldn’t I be what he needed? I’m just not good enough. Not then, not now. I’m on the verge of tears right now because everything in my body just feels so wrong. I’m so desperately lost sometimes and I can’t find my way back. I just feel so wrong. So gone. So sad. Stuck in this phase of depression that I can’t get myself out of. I don’t really have a reason for the depression. I can only say that I’m in it and can’t find my way out. I can’t… All I want is to lay down and watch myself bleed. Damn the people that care about me and love me because if I didn’t have them then I could go ahead and do as I wish. But no, I’m not even good enough for that. I don’t deserve the easing of pain, the quick, sleepy death. I deserve to suffer and deal with the pain every single day. Partly because I couldn’t keep Eric alive. Partly because of the shit I’ve done in my life. But mostly because I’m not good enough for the friends I have, for the boyfriend I have. I’m not good enough. I try so hard but it’s never, ever good enough. People tell me different but I can see the truth because its me. I’m not saying my life sucks or any of that, I’m saying that I suck. Somethings wrong with me. I can never be perfect enough. I can never be the person I want to be and God knows the one I am now is nothing. Fucking nothing. Fucking worthless fat ass piece of crap. Fucking… nothing. I. Am. Nothing.
… I hate the quiet.