Before I get started I wanted to dedicate this chapter to edoggypaws This person was so helpful and edited over this chapter. She picked out my mistakes that were so obvious that I couldn't see. Thanks with lots of love!

"Sleep, oh don't get me started on my lack of sleep. Honestly, it's just the night, the paranoia I feel because of the darkness." -Ashley Franze

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I wish it would shut up. It'd be nice if my brain would turn off and let me sleep. But no, it's restless as it runs wild, ignoring my pleas for it to be quiet.

I'm stuck in darkness with no light, deafening silence filling my ears. There's no one here to help or talk me to sleep like the old days. I pull my legs up to my chest and try to close my eyes for more than two minutes, but fail.

Physically I'm exhausted, but mentally my mind won't shut up. It feels like it's been hours, when really it's only been twenty minutes, twenty minutes that I've been staring at the ceiling. Twenty minutes that I've questioned what the point of life is. I can't help but wonder what it would be like if I was gone, if I never existed. Would anyone care?

I used to believe a couple people would, but they ended up leaving, one of them drilling a hole in my heart and the other leaving it empty. Now, there's nothing left.

God, I still miss them. I need her, my best friend, but it's all my fault she'll never come back. Then there's him, his absence, even as a friend kills me. I should hate him, despise him, but something always keeps my hatred back.

I wish he were here to hold me, like he said he'd do on our late calls, but those moments are long gone. He doesn't love me nor like me, but my brain hasn't processed that yet. Why can't I just let it go? Why can't I get over it?

Picking up my phone, I scroll through Instagram and try to distract myself from the silence, from the loneliness, but it doesn't work. My thoughts are always negative, never trying to look on the bright side.

My conscience is my bully, not a person like normal people tend to complain about. It constantly taunts me, making sure I never forget how worthless I am, and always will be. It's like a disease that's spread all over my body, sucking all the energy out of me, robbing me of self-confidence and peace of mind.

As I'm laying down, my knees up to my chest, a notification goes off. My heart jumps with excitement, hoping that someone else is awake like I am. Hopefully, an online friend.

I'm met with disappointment when I realize it was from Webtoon. It lets me know another chapter of I Love Yoo is out. I read the chapter quickly, hoping I'll be tired after I'm done. Unluckily for me, I'm not, and I feel more awake than earlier. It quickly dawns on me how worthless I've become and I have no idea how to stop it from getting worse.

Rolling over, I see that it's 3:16 am. I have school tomorrow, so I need at least one hour of sleep. Slowly, I get out of bed, hoping that if I drink some milk, it could force a yawn, then a long nap.

The stairs creak as I tiptoe on them. I pray to a God I don't know exists that my older brother won't hear me. He's judgemental and hates me, but I don't blame him. I would hate me too if I were him.

Finally, I reach the end of the stairs and make my way to the fridge. I open it slowly, cautious to not make a sound.

I slip the milk out and set it on the counter as I grab a glass out the cabinet, holding the fridge with my foot. I pour the milk in and return the carton back from where I got it. I finish the drink within three gulps and don't feel a difference.

Sighing, I remove my foot from the door and it closes gently, not making a sound. As quiet as possible, I return to the stairs and weave my fingers through my hair, wanting the sun to rise and end the night.

An hour goes by and I wonder what my life would've been like, had I not met him, the guy I never expected to leave. There's no point in doing so because no matter how hard I think about it, no matter how much I try to forget about him, he will always have a mark on me. A mark he left deep and untreated.

People complain about scars ruining their body image from physical abuse. They make me look ugly, or they look like stretch marks, they say. But, those scars showed you're strong, that you survived. Mental ones are completely different.

When you've suffered mental scars, you have marks all over the inside of your body. You can't cover them up with concealer or foundation. Instead, it eats you from the inside and trust issues develop without you noticing. Before you know it, you close people out, affecting everyone who tries to save you from your mental dilemma.

It's hard to let someone in again after being betrayed by the first and a lot of people can't comprehend that. They always pressure you, wanting to know what happened. Eventually, they become so frustrated to the point that they leave not only you, but any possibility of your emptiness going away.

This is why I don't trust people and never will again. Once they get tired of you, they leave and throw you away like a piece of trash. I've never understood why. Why one person can't stick around, even when you have your bad days is ridiculous to me, but not to others.

Time flies as different questions pop into my brain. Some random song starts blaring from my phone, pulling me out of my thoughts and lets me know I need to get dressed.

I walk to my drawers and squint as I try to find the handle. After a little while, I'm able to grab it and I feel around for clothes. I pick a random pair of pants and make my way over to my closet to do the same, but with a shirt.

After pulling on my shirt and tugging on my pants, I flip the light switch on and see what clothing I picked today. I end up with black leggings and an oversized white hoodie. I nod to myself, deciding my choice of clothing is good and walk out the door, to my car.

As I'm driving to school, I look at the rear view mirror and notice my eyes are swollen. I pull my short hair out its small ponytail and part it to the side, hoping to hide one eye to make it less obvious. I don't try bothering with makeup because people will always see me as a freak, even if my appearance is decent.

The only person who truly liked me was Maeve, but she's dead. I wince at the thought of her death, and rub my face with my hands, making sure no tears spill out. I don't want to cry and I won't allow myself because I don't deserve to.

I pull into a parking space and step out the car, the autumn air hitting my face hard. No one looks my way because they don't care about the girl they claim is an accident. They don't care about the intense pain she's in.

That makes me wonder why people are so careless, why they're only concerned about themselves. What makes them think that, that's okay?

They're so vicious, ripping people into shreds, not caring if there's nothing left after they're done. Then, they play it off by laughing as if what they're doing has no consequences.

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Posted 12/30/18