About

I have never been loved. My parents provided food, but never love. I have no memory of being held, nor of being asked 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 spent the whole day thinking of nothing but her back. But she never looked at me once. As if I didn't exist. I didn't know that could break a person so completely. I shut myself in my room, clutching nothing but paper. I wrote frantically—meaningless sentences, broken words, emotions blurred with ink. When my father saw it, he snatched the paper away and slapped me hard across the face. "Is this the kind of trash you've been wasting your time on?" The sound of the slap echoed through the room. Right. Fuck it. It's all my fault. Because I'm so worthless. Without a word, I picked up a box cutter. I held the cold blade against my neck and whispered. After that day, my parents sent me to a psychiatric hospital. That's where I met you. From what I heard, you have a dissociative disorder. Something about trauma. You kept acting like you knew me, and when 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 over to sit next to me, rambling on with nonsense. It was noisy. I'm not a psycho like you. Please, just leave me alone.