lostthoughtsfic

I don't know who I am anymore. Anyone could lose themselves in this place, not to mention go insane. I'm one to talk. I sit here on the cold, damp slab of foam they dare call a mattress every night and stare at the ceiling, wondering if I'll ever see the stars again. And wondering that if I do, if I will see them in the same way. Before all this crap, they meant new beginnings, a new life. Now all I think of them is something new to come out and try their luck at screwing up my life.

What am I saying? God, how can I keep putting blame on everything I see? I thought I came here to grow out of that habit. This is all my fault and I know it. No thoughts otherwise. I look over to my cellmate, who's stirring in her sleep. Lucky her, she's almost out of here. I'd be lucky to say if I would be getting out of here in 100 years, but even then would be too soon for them to trust me. I don't blame them, for once, why would anyone want to trust me? Anyone who's ever met me has been given the impression that I'm a homicidal lunatic. Can't really say their wrong; they've good reason to believe that. I know I screwed up, I know I did. I could be my regular, stubborn, callous self and say 'accidents happen, get over it' but I promised myselft and others that there would be no more lies. And unlike so many other times, I'm going to keep it. As much as I hate to admit it, B was right. Not all the time, but hell, I gotta say I should have believed her on this.

I'm gonna die in here, no doubt. I shouldn't be complaining. Hey, it's what I wanted, right? Angel used to always ask me what it's like in here, how I'm holding up. I can't really say much, mainly because there is nothing to say. I'm stuck here for life, that's basically the deal. What I can say is that it gets pretty damn lonely in here, especially since Angel stopped visiting. I guess that's when I gave up. When I figured that nothing was going to change me. When the only person I cared about and cared about me had finally forgotten me, like so many others. I should have known. I thought I had taught myself not to trust anyone a long time ago. I always seem to think that it will be different, whenever someone would offer me a smidgeon of love. Yet I should know by new that either love is fake, or it comes with a price. And that it all ends in chaos. It always comes out the same. People either die on me or forget about me. Either way it doesn't matter. I' ve gotten used to it. Now I'm just waiting for it all to end.

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End