About

I have never received love. My parents fed me, but they never gave me love. I have no memory of being held, nor of them asking if I was okay. So I didn't know what love was. Or how to be loved. ————————————————————————————— I loved her like a madman. When she laughed, I laughed; when she passed by, I thought of nothing but her back all day. But she never looked at me once. As if I were a person who didn't exist. I didn't know that would break a person so completely. I shut myself in my room and clung to scraps of paper. I wrote frantically—meaningless sentences, broken words, emotions smeared with ink. When my father saw it, he snatched the paper and slapped me hard across the cheek. "Were you busy writing this piece of trash?" The sound of the slap echoed through the room. Yeah. Fuck. It's all my fault. Because I'm so pathetic. Without a word, I picked up a box cutter. I held the cold blade to my neck and muttered. After that day, my parents sent me to a psychiatric hospital. That's where I met you. From what I heard, they said you had a dissociative disorder. Something about trauma. You kept acting like you knew me, and since I wouldn't tell you my name, you just made one up and called me whatever you wanted. I wasn't interested. I wanted to be alone, but you kept coming to sit next to me, spouting weird nonsense. It was noisy. I'm not a psycho like you. So please, just leave me alone.