PART I: last night

do you ever wanna run away?

do you lock yourself in your room?

with the radio on turned up so loud that no one hears you screaming?

"What do you think your problem is Marissa?"

I've been seeing therapists for years now, and that seems to be their favorite question. I think its so that they have to do less work. They all expect me to know what my problem is. Isn't that what I'm coming to you for? If I knew what my problem is, don't you think I would fix it? Or at least cover it up so that my mom couldn't send me to therapy for it? But I just sit back in the chair, cross my legs and say "My problem is when people ask questions that they think they already know the answers to."

It takes them about five minutes to figure that one out and by the time they do, I've changed the subject to something much more interesting. Like my non-exisistent sexual problems. They don't know that I don't have any, but their not quite sure that I do. Especially the male ones. I don't know what it is about guys and sex, but when they see a beautiful girl they automatically think sex. Trust me, I've learned. And some of the girls aren't much better.

Alex was.

Sometimes when I'm sitting in those dark wood, heavy curtained, cool offices, I consider really telling them what my problems are. Its a flitting thought that barely passes through my brain, but just thinking about releasing all the stuff that I've jammed up inside me, it relaxes me. And sometimes, just when I'm about to break, sitting on the floor of my apartment, when all I can think about is how much I don't want to see the next day, I think about her.

I think about those short couple of weeks and all those mixed emotions and the fear that I harbored. And the passion, pure and released. The way she looked at me sometimes, like she really wanted me there. Maybe, she didn't feel like being with me was a guilty pleasure. That's the way Ryan looks at me. Like he can't help being in love with me and he would if he could. The kind of love that's forced and I hate him for loving me that way. I don't think she loved me that way. If she did, if she had, she wouldn't have looked at me like she did when she left. Like something was breaking.

That moment is one of my heartbreaking regrets in my life. Breaking up with her. You would think after a couple years I would let go, but she hangs in my mind. Her, that trip to TJ, and everything that was Volchok. I think that we could have been good, her and me. We were good. I just wish that I hadn't gotten so fucking terrified. When I think about her, it makes me sane for a little while.

Ryan and I got back together after she left, but I was bored and resentful and we broke up. Volchok wasn't much better. He was a release. I could be as fucking horrible, disgusting and fucked up as I wanted and he just shrugged it off. He didn't care. He couldn't care, not through his drug-induced haze. If my mom thought Alex was bad for me, I was going to show her what was really bad for me.

Drugs help. I hate to admit it, but they do. I take all of them that I can, but I always pass out before I can get high enough the forget about her. Maybe one day I won't wake up to thoughts of her, dreams slipping through my fingers. I don't know what it is about her that clings to me, sticks in my brain. It drives me crazy, trying to forget about her. She's not what makes me like this, she's not why I take these things, she's why I don't kill myself with them. I was messed up before she even came into my life and after she left, after I pushed her out, I just slipped right off the edge of the cliff that I had been dangling from.

I think about seeing her again all the time. She would hate me for doing this to myself, but since I never believe that I'll really see her again, I can do this. I can hurt myself. All the things that have built up in my heart hurt so much and so I hurt myself, because that kind of hurt doesn't touch me as much.

Summer tries to forget about me. But she loves me too much. She's my best friend and she does hate me for doing this to myself. She drags me to clinics and checks me in, but I always leave. Just walk out. I hate myself for hurting her like this. She wants me to be like I was before, before everything crashed. She wants me to be the maid of honor at her wedding. She told me once, but I was too fucked up to really pay attention. She cries a lot when she sees me. And I cry a lot when she leaves.

Seth comes with her sometimes, and I can see the pity in his eyes. I hate pity. God, I hate it. Ryan came once. I know he doesn't know how he feels about me and I could care less. All he holds for me now are regrets.

I'm tired of this. And there's nothing dramatic or horribly sad about it. I'm just utterly weak and tired and I want it to stop. There's nothing for me anymore. And yes, I know this selfish, I know, ok? But I am selfish. I am selfish and fucked up and tired. I'm too tired to think about all the pain that I'm going to cause. And to think about Summer and the way this will break her is almost pulling me back. It makes me think. But one person in my whole world is not enough to keep me here. So, that's why I'm dong this. I'm going to write my letter and take my pills and pick up that knife and then let go. And it doesn't scare me. I think that's why I know its time.

Marissa.