Black. The world spins and turns. Upside down. Spinning around. Blue. Purple. Blurred. The pain swirled and twisted and turned into a point and became a stream, a river, an ocean in the depths of the soul.
Alone. Bitter. Lonely.
They'd never come again.
The cameras. The lights. The love. The men. The clothes. The colors.
White and black.
She'd thought she was lucky. She was talented. She was discovered.
She was blank. She was alone. She was unable to think without the drugs. The alcohol. Everything. She needs it like the drugs coursing through her system and the voices talking to her and the way she was unable to escape her own mind.
She'd down there if she stayed long enough.
Long vacations.
Trips.
Love.
Happy thoughts.
Shane. Camp Rock. What happened anyway, Mitchie? When did it all really fall apart? When did the life become too much and everything falls apart and there's nothing left and everything you can and can't do is impossible and too much and life is too much too crazy too fast too loud too bright too much everything.
I can't take it anymore. I can't sit here alone and pretend that everything's okay when life is falling apart into crystals and diamonds and shards of glass falling everywhere around and I just can't.
I can't sit through another show in a dress and pretend to be happy because I just can't. I can't live like this anymore. I can't see him and pretend to be happy and fall apart inside. I can't pretend, I can't love, I can't do anything.
I can do something.
I can die.
I can end it all here and now. And end the world's satisfaction in my absolute failure. Their epic glory is my loss. Everything I ever wanted, gone, vanished, blown away like the wind on a winter day. Chilling. Earth shattering.
Avoid the world. People. Beds. Food. Anything that might scream normalcy. If I can die, I can do it my way. I can do it all by myself. I can do it. I can. You don't believe me, but I can. I can.
I can die like no one had ever died before.