Me and my friend Grim.

*coughcough*

The day I turned 17 I had to stop rolling down hills, because it made me nauseous. And I feel like someone should have thrown me a funeral.

They say suicide is selfish. And being murdered is somehow noble. It doesn't matter how it happens. All that matters is that I'm dead.

I'm dead, and you're still breathing. Throw me a funeral for my lost youth. For the days when my laugh could annihilate a whole country.

Throw me a funeral for the times I thought, "High School reunions are gonna be fun."

*coughcough*

Because damnit, I miss Junie B Jones books.  And I can't stop thinking about how happy I was when I saw the first episode of Rugrats: All Grown Up. 

I was thrown into adulthood, headfirst, lungs wide open. I left claw marks on my parents arms. "Hold on," they said. I didn't ask for this. I didn't want this in the first place. Not even the second place.  But they ungripped my fingertips, kissing my cheek. They told me everything would "be ok." They told me I would be "better off."

*coughcough*


I'm choking on the words you shoved down my throat. And my body is trying to make some sort of sense out of them. Maybe if I keep coughing. Maybe if I keep coughing some sort of sustainable truth will force it's way out of my lungs. And I hold it up, covered in blood and whatever else is down there. "Is this what you're looking for?" I say. "Is this what it's all about?"

No.
Because your truth isn't the same as mine. Because we're adults now. We pronounce adults weird.  And we stopped caring about the kids from The Magic Tree House, The Baudelaire Orphans, The Babysitters Club, ages ago.

*coughcough*

Throw me a funeral. I've given you everything, at least give me death.

*coughcough*

"WAR IS PEACE

FREEDOM IS SLAVERY

IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH"

ESTHER.