vague mystique.

I don’t want to live anymore.

I’ve been an extremely suicidal teenager for the past few years, but today it feels like all desires to become nonexistent have intensified tenfold. I have lost all motivation to live. I just… I want to die. So bad.

It’s not even like I have anything TO life for. My biological mother is an alcoholic, my biological father is an unfit parent. More than half of my relatives have disowned me. My sister drinks and does drugs like they’re candy, which I suppose it incredibly normal for a teenager around here, but still really hard for me to accept and shrug off as nothing. I haven’t seen my two step brothers in years. I’ve never met my half brother. My step mother hates me. My mother’s sister is a complete nutcase. I have no boyfriend. My friends annoy the living Hell out of me. My own cats seem to have been distant lately. My dog isn’t well. My family is poor. And I am just a really, really fucked up person.

It’s kind of ironic to think that when I woke up this morning, I was in relatively good mood. One would think I wouldn’t be, since I woke up to the sounds of Winifred sobbing in the kitchen at a volume so loud that it could have woken up the entire neighborhood, and my grandmother attempting with little success to calm her down, and eventually her storming out of the house with a slam of the door, but I was. Somehow.

I was even in such a good mood, in fact, that I mass texted a bunch of my friends saying, “Happy Saint Patrick’s Day, loves!” and didn’t even care that Serena and I left the house later than usual to school (I had a three hour delay today due to state testing, so she dropped me off on her way to work). I was practically ecstatic until I walked into third period English, my favorite class, and found out that a boy I care very deeply for is having his world crash down.

I feel kind of immature writing this. It’s like, really, Rosalie? You’re especially suicidal today because of a BOY that you have a CRUSH on? It’s so pathetic, but I can’t help it. I… I… can’t even explain it. I haven’t always liked him. We met at the beginning of this year and have been friends ever since. Talking to him is so easy. We have chemistry. It’s like Bella and Jacob Black… it’s just, talking to him is as easy as breathing air. And… I just… I didn’t even consider us as a couple until a few weeks ago, when my friend Catherine decided started accusing me of liking him just about every day. Then I started seeing him in a new light, if you will…. and… I realized that I was blind for not seeing it before. We would probably make a really good couple.

It kind of skyrocketed from there.

I quickly fell into complete… I hate this phrase… but crush mode, on him. Ugh. There. I said it. I have a crush on him. A stupid, immature, irrelevant little crush on a boy. But it’s not like elementary school/middle school crushes. I don’t giggle when I see him, and I don’t tell all my friends and pass, “Do you like me, check yes or no,” notes to him during class. I CARE for him. I care about his well being, what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling, how he reacts to things, what he likes, what he doesn’t like, his views, his believes, everything. I care for him on such a deeper level than the word “crush” implies.

With that being said, when I came into English and listened to him tell me that two of his friends tried to commit suicide yesterday and that he lost all motivation to do absolutely anything in life, I almost burst into tears in front of everybody. He said he hasn’t eaten for over twelve hours, hasn’t slept at all, and stared at his computer screen for two hours last night simply could not bring himself to write his English research paper. He told me that he cried, and he hasn’t cried since he was ten. He told me that his life is going to pieces, and he, the funny, optimistic guy, has lost all optimism and feels empty, drained.

You could tell just by looking at him how much pain he was in. Then he launched into a replay of his morning, talking about how he missed the bus because it came early, how his father was screaming at him all morning, and how his mother, who apparently has a broken back, had to drive him to school. He life was falling apart, and just from LISTENING to him confide in me, my life was falling apart, too.

When the teacher started class and everybody quieted down, I took the opportunity to rake my brain for something to say other than, “I’m so sorry.” The problem was, though, Rosalie Bass is the last person to come to for advice. I am completely abysmal at telling people how to deal with their problems, when my life is nothing more than a pile of broken glass either. But I had to say something. Had to. I couldn’t just sit here at my desk shaking, trying so hard to hold back tears and looking like an idiot. I finally decided to say this: “Look, I know this sounds really stupid, but I care about you a lot and if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here.” Between Catherine accusing me of liking him right in front of him every day, and Aphrodite asking him to take me to the sophomore dance several times a week (To which he says, “I’m taking Zack,” not “I don’t want to,” or, “I’d rather not,” or not even saying anything. Just that he’s taking his friend that goes to another school), I figured that he already had a feeling I wanted to be more than friends so it wouldn’t do much damage telling him that I care about him. And plus, the whole thing sounded casual, right? Just an invitation to talk, nothing more. Just letting him know that I care and I’m there for him.

Yeah, I know. Coming from Rosalie, who avoids confrontation like it’s fatal and would rather die than talk about feelings, this “casual” thing is lot more gigantic and meaningful. However, to the OUTSIDE world, it should be casual. To normal people, it should sound casual.

So, at the end of class, when everybody else was shuffling to put their laptops away before the bell, I swallowed my pride, took a deep breath, tried to hide the fact that I was shaking with fear, and walked over to him.

“Come here,” I said, and gave him a hug. Something I never do. I always let the males hug me.

There was an unforeseen problem, though.

He didn’t hug back. He mumbled, “Yeah,” and stood there completely unresponsive, radiating disapproval. I froze. I choked. My heart felt like it was stabbed. He… disapproved of me hugging him?

He didn’t want me hugging him.

I stepped back quickly, trying to regain the composure that cracked for just a fraction of a second. “I’m really sorry,” I mumbled stupidly, and shoved my laptop back in the rack and got out of the classroom as quickly as I could, stabs of rejection practically crippling me.

I’m such a fucking idiot.

It’s obvious that he doesn’t like me. It’s so fucking obvious, and I was such a fucking prick not to realize it. He doesn’t like me like that. He just… he doesn’t. I should have known this!

I spent the rest of the day replaying all the interactions I’ve had with him back in the back of my head, looking for body language I misinterpreted or hints that I’ve blissfully ignored or overlooked. That text convo I had with him last weekend… he did sound a bit… distracted. Did he really want to talk to me? Probably not. And it’s common knowledge that he used to like another girl, but he told me weeks ago that he gave up on her. Does he still like her, though?

Apparent-fuckingly so. Or some other girl. Obviously. There hundreds of girls in this school, and a lot of them would make such better girlfriends than me. I mean, yeah, I’m kind of pretty, and yeah, guys tell me that I’m attractive a lot, but I would make a bad girlfriend because I’m so completely broken. I want to be relationship material, but that is not in my chemical composition.

So yeah, that’s how my jolly good mood that I woke up with this morning got ruined. By rejection.

The only thing left to do is self destruct.

------------------------------

I would also like to add that I have complete trust in the people that read this blog, and a certain viewer that I know in real life who reads Rosalie Bass, and that I expect them to remain as silent about this post as they do all the others. Also, specific viewer, don't expect me to talk about this with you, because I have no intention to. Sorry if that sounds bad, but honesty hurts. EDIT: Alright, I lied; there might be two. In that case, the same goes for BOTH of you.