I was sure of a few things my senior year of high school. They would be nothing like that last three years. They would be nothing like what you see on TV or read in books. Far from perfect, that's what it would be. Summer vacation dragged by slowly, painfully. I anticipated going back to school, not to return to the laughing and whispering, but to escape. Escape from everything at my home. This isn't a home though. You're supposed to feel safe in your home. Home was in his arms. I've never been good at letting my guard down, very few people know the real me. But he did. He actually accepted me. I don't know what I did to him, but I've come to the conclusion that I'm a terrible person. Every teenager feels like that at times. Ever since I lost him, I've spent hours degrading myself. When school ended mid-June I decided to get rid of everything that reminded me of him. He always loved my curly hair that ran past my shoulders. It's gone now though; just like him. All of his belongings left in my room were shoved in a box under my bed. Along with pictures, notes, everything he gave me. I'll admit, some nights I still like to look through everything by myself. Crying feels good. I used to occasionally check his Facebook profile. Until one day he went from being "single" to "in a relationship". I liked to tell myself he felt some sort of pain from losing me. But no one feels sorry for me. I don't want anyone to anyways. As you age, aren't you supposed to find yourself? You know, become more confident? I've done the opposite. Lately every laugh I assume is because of me. Because of the way I dress, the way I look, even the way I sit. I always feel like everybody needs to talk about me. But in reality, no one cares enough to.