Crushing Violet: Part ?

A little chunk of rough writing written in the moment to add in to Crushing Violet somewhere.

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I stared down at my torn up sneakers and let my whirring mind drift back to the days when my view consisted almost completely of my own feet. I was alone and didn't belong, so I had to concentrate and force myself to continue moving through life. Sometimes, I felt as if looking down and zoning out would make it all go away. It didn't.

It seemed like it had been forever since those days. I was so self conscious and weak, but I pretended to be strong and numb. I played the role of the sad, quiet girl in the back of the classroom rather well. A haunted look overtook my eyes, and anyone with any real perception could see the pain bottled up behind them.

Eventually, I stopped staring down and became a strong enough person to continue living despite everything. I'd taken to being more observant and active in my life, but somehow I ended up right back where I started. It's really just a horribly vicious cycle made to get my hopes up and shatter them. No matter what strides I make in the right or wrong direction in a desperate attempt to find happiness, I always end up back here.

My shoes tell a lot about me, almost as much as my eyes. I could definitely use a new pair, but I probably won't end up getting new ones until time has taken a toll that sewing with fishing line can't fix. Part of it is the memories. I have a hard time giving up on anything. The more likely reason is because I don't ever feel worth buying anything that isn't a bare necessity. I really wish I could learn to spoil myself, but I don't know if I will ever feel deserving.

I bit into my lip as hard as I could to hold back the tears. I pulled my hood up over my head and thrust my hands deep in my pockets, as if hiding in my bright orange hand-me-down hoodie could somehow ironically make me invisible. I wanted to disappear so badly. I needed to run away again. What do you do when you crave nonexistence but aren't enough of a delinquent to let your impulsive disintegration take control?

My thoughts were flooded with worries that I'd never really be happy. Maybe self destruction suited me and I needed to go back to self medicating. I looked up at the sky for a moment. It was gray, and I could see my breath against the cold dark of the night. Distracted, I tripped and was reminded of the time I was shoved into the street out of anger. I knew in that instant I would never feel the same and it was over. Somehow, the imminent ending is still a work in progress in a torn up composition book. Old stories are hard to walk away from sometimes; they're even harder to finally finish.

I started to think about the latest potentially ephemeral light in my life, in an attempt to chase away my demons. Then, it hit me. Tragic realizations began to form and sink in. For one, nothing this good could ever possibly happen to me. Someone as perfect as him couldn't possibly exist, let alone be mine. It was only a matter of time before his feelings changed and faded. It was only a matter of time before my darker side got on his last nerves, before I was slowly cast aside, before the pain set in.

Could I really go from the use and abuse and tumultuous nature of my past to waiting on someone out of my league? I wasn't used to someone wanting to know anything about me. I wasn't used to be being taken care of or getting this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. Maybe I wasn't used to it because it doesn't exist.

No boy would ever be interested in what I can do. My stories would go unread, my art unseen, my words unremembered and misunderstood. No boy would ever keep in contact unless I pushed it. People naturally want to get the most while doing the least possible. People only care about themselves deep down. They've only got their own backs, and anyone who claims otherwise is full of shit.

Really, what side of me was the true me I should be presenting to him? If I didn't even know who I was, how could I expect anyone else to love something so indefinite? Am I a monster, an innocent little girl, an angry and broken hedonist, a hopeless romantic, or just an unoriginal character in a played out plot?

I want to be the reason behind someone's smile. I want to be the piece in someone's puzzle. I want to be special in someone's heart. I want someone to share my misery, happiness, failures, successes, goals, wishes, and life with. Is it so much to ask that one person out there in the world fall asleep and wake up thinking of me? I'm just a selfish, idealistic dreamer. I want so many things that aren't attainable for a girl like me. Maybe that's why life seems set on punishing me.