What Is Life Without a Purpose? What Is Purpose Without Love?

Changing schools had done nothing to change my view on school. It was still shit. And probably always would be.
Thankfully, only two people had shown themselves as a dick to me so far.
But that'd probably change once everyone got over the fact that I was 'new.'

I'd rather be old news. As in dead.

I was in one of those moods today, where I wanted to surround myself in blankets- or maybe plastic bags- and sit in my closet all day. Or all week.
This was a recurring problem for me- even though I didn't see it as a problem most of the time.
Life wasn't exactly something that excited me. In fact, I could care less if I had it or not.
What I'm really interested in, is what comes next.
If I died today, would I know it? Would I be able to think? Would I become some paranormal shit? Oh, the people I could haunt.
My hopes were set on not remembering a thing and simply disappearing.
That's all I wanted. At least, a lot of the time, anyway. I had good days, too, but those were rare.
I don't remember my last good day. I remember I've felt like shredding my skin for weeks now. I remember exactly where the solution to my dilemma is. I remember that I shouldn't have that razor at all, and that my skin should not be itching to walk across the room, reach into that top right drawer and pull it out.
So I didn't, not to say that it was easy.
It was like my brain was conversing against its self; 'go ahead,' and 'don't you dare.'
I made it just over three weeks the last time I picked up that razor before letting the darker side of my head get the best of me.
That was pretty good for me, actually. Through all of the times I had tried to stop, the longest I made it was two months.
Pathetic, I know.
And to stop cutting myself wasn't even the hard part.

Nobody knew, not anything. Which was a huge surprise to me still, because it was completely clear what I was doing to myself if you just looked hard enough. That explains why, though. Nobody looked hard enough. Nobody looked at all.
I was fine with that when it came to hiding all my secrets, but it was part of the problem in the first place. It was great to me, knowing I could go on with destroying myself with nobody noticing, but the fact that nobody noticed in the first place was not a welcoming feeling. At first, anyway.
I'd learned to-at least partially- get over it quite a while ago.
Well, not 'get over it' necessarily, but, come to terms with it. I guess.So I stuck to myself.
Sticking to myself wasn't very hard, either, considering the moment I open my mouth I choke up or make myself feel stupid. All the more reason.

That's enough of myself. I always make myself feel stupid even thinking about just how pathetic I really am.

Even though I'd declared I was done wallowing over myself, the thoughts didn't stop. Because it was one of those days, where I'd be scared to go in my room when I got home, knowing what would be waiting for me, sitting in that little box. Except I was already home, and only feet away from what I feared.
Call me an adrenaline junkie if you wish, but I opened the drawer, pulling out the old necklace box. I still remember when my first best friend gave me that box. Funny how 9 years ago it had contained a little paper heart, when now it contained my enemy.
I remember that day clearly still. And I remember the day she moved away, her military father taking her and her mother across the country. That was the first worst thing that happened to me.
The problem with my 'problems' is that they're not really all that bad.
There were so many people who go through worse than I ever have, in a single day.
I'd had quite a few family members die, to the point where I sometimes had to question wether some of them were alive or not. Though most were not close family.
My best friend moved away 6 years ago, I was pretty much over that.
I'd been broken up with one time by someone who wasn't ever really worth the time anyway.

The real problem is me.
The real problem is that my mind never shut off, never stopped reminding me of how terrible I really am, never let me have a moment of peace. Which lead to my other, real problems.
Two years ago, simply out of curiosity, I decided to cut myself. Plain and simple. I always wondered why anyone would want to hurt themselves because they're sad. I was sad, and figured, 'hey, it makes other people feel better so why not?'
'Not' would have been the much more sensible answer to me BEFORE it led me into two years of different versions of self harm before trailing into starving myself.
Not eating wasn't just because I thought I was fat, except I do, but because it was just another way to hurt myself when I couldn't do anything else. And I needed that.
I had originally just wanted to lose the weight, trying to make myself more appealing to someone I had liked.
He liked girls. Skinny girls. And I couldn't be a girl, so why not be skinny, try it out? He had dated boys before, I knew that. So I had the smallest chance.
I never got that chance, though. He moved and I moved, we lost touch. We had actually kind of been friends. Not the kind you hang out with on the weekends, but someone to talk to.
But that was the last piece that made up the puzzle of my mind; do not let anyone in. On any condition.

-&-

One thing about this school was-I had learned- that gossip was a trend. More so than the last school I went to.
Gossip is the usual high school thing, but this school was on its own level. Within just hours of something happening, the entire school-if not, the entire town- knew about it.
And from that, I knew that Austin liked to sleep with girls while drunk. That wouldn't be weird to me if I hadn't seen how he acted at school; all quiet and reserved.
But he was apparently quite the man in the sheets. I didn't know whether to think of that as hot or just plain gross.
Probably gross, considering the kind of talk I'd overheard the girls producing.
"Remember when he did this"; "remember when he did that with her"; "he's such a player".
And for some reason, I was kind of disappointed in him for that. I don't know why, I guess I just expected better from the oddly-cute boy that liked to shut out the world the way I wish I could. Though it wouldn't mean much to me, anyway. Sure, he'd made small conversation with me; but he tried with a lot of people. I was nothing special, he probably realized that and tried to make me feel better. I didn't really need to feel better, but the gesture was nice.
I guess you can be a sweet whore, right?
Woah. Whore? That came out of nowhere, considering my assumptions could just not be true. I'd have to find out before going all out with the labeling.
So that's what my entire rest-of-the-day consisted of; listening in on random conversations to see if I could figure Austin out.
Weird? Maybe. But what isn't weird?