Just stop it. Just fucking stop it. You know what you are and you know who you are, so just stop it. And why the fuck not. Why the fuck not right now. "Because I've people that care" "Because I'm good at something" "Because I am smart" Bullshit. I have people that say they care. I've something that I am good at, and thats only because I worked ten times as hard as everyone else to be half as good. Do you know how many hours I spent practicing? It was all I would do. It was a compulsion. It wasn't a passion, it was an obsession. I would spend hours until my lips bled. Does that make you believe me? I have problems too. I am not bragging. I won't deny that I am good. Fuck, yes I am good. I spend hours. I spend months. I spent years getting where I am. It wasn't motivation, it was insanity. I am smart. No. I spent hours trying to get the teachers to see me. In kindergarden, I would act better than the rest of the kids. I knew how to get them to see me, and when they didn't, I would work harder, be better, act stronger. It was all an act. Thats all. I am not smart. I remember things. The things that are least important. I lose weeks of my life at a time. But it's the information that I remember. I can tell you what we were doing in math class the day she died. But I can't tell you what her mom said when she told me. I can tell you what my physics teacher had us do for homework. Down to the page number and the problems. But I can't rember the sound of her voice. Do you know how much that hurts me? Do you know what it's like to remember the music and the words, but not the feelings and the people that matter? Music means nothing without emotions. Knowledge has no value when you're a zombie. I am a zombie. I wake up, and I'm out. I wish I could stay in for five fucking minutes to explain myself to everyone. Just let me be me. I just want to be me. Because this swinging back and forth, that isn't me. No one really knows me. She did. But shhh. Its a secret. No one can know who Andrea is, because if it gets out Ashleigh will be pissed. This isn't me. I am not like this. I am not like this. I am not like this. This isn't me. This isn't truly me. Well then who the fuck is? Andrea? Ashleigh? Ashton? Drea? How many people do I have to change into before I find myself? Maybe that is what hell is. You go mad, and all of your demons come and get you just as fast as you can think them up. I want someone to run their fingers through my soul. For once, just once, feel exactly what I feel, believe what I believe, perceive as I perceive, look, experience, examine, and for once; just once, understand. I like her too much. Way way way way way too much. it will never ever ever ever ever work. Not in a million years. not in her situation. But I can't stop looking at her. I miss her. (no, not April).