It's so hard for me to accept what I am. And accept what's happened to me. I don't want to accept it, accepting it means it's real. I don't want it to be real. It can't be real.
This can't be real.
My friends don't accept me for who I am, why should I?
Flyer came back into my life after the boy left. He's the only person I know who can say that. All of my friends and family were there with me while it happened.
Don't get me wrong, I'm incredibly grateful for that, but sometimes it's nice to be with Flyer because I can pretend like none of this is real.
Because, really, this can't be real.
I've considered coming clean to the world.
Or at least my school.
Maybe I can give a talk on abusive relationships. Or depression. I'm so sure that there are countless people experiencing one or both at my school.
It's so horribly common.
But that would mean accepting that this has actually happened. That this is actually real.
And this can't be real.
-Beaskie
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