They hoped, and hoped, and they said you would break

It's weird when something upsetting happens. I tend to go through stages...
1) The event consumes everything
2) I freak out about everything
3) I try to forget about everything even vaguely related to anything that has happened
4) I just feel permanently broken
I'm currently in stage four, and life is just hard.

For a while, I didn't write about it, I felt like I couldn't write about it. The unwritten rules of society stopped me writing about it. Well, those and my conscience. But by not writing about it, I never had the chance to address it - and when you're never able to address something, holding it in becomes quite tiresome. 

Why am I writing this now? Well, the tale starts way back, but for argument's sake, it started at about 4:05pm today, when my Spanish teacher asked if I was alright. I'm sure you can all related when I say that I knew I'd break down if somebody asked if I was OK. It seems to be (unfortunately) quite a common occurrance. I think I did a fairly decent job of holding myself together (that means I only cried a little). She spent a few minutes explaining to me that when you ''hold things inside, they only stay inside''. I understood what she meant. I've heard it for seven years now, every single time I've been upset. Except for last year, because the person who always said it was suddenly no longer there every day and rarely there at all. It was so strange hearing those words again. It didn't matter who was saying them. They could have whispered, they could have shouted, it didn't make a difference. I heard them.

And even though I heard them, I'm still exactly where I was before they were even said. Why? Because there's still nobody there. It's all well and good to know you need to talk to someone, but what about when there's nobody there? No teachers, no family, no friends, nobody who will sit with you and just listen. 

In the meantime, everything is also just bad. Christmas is coming and I no longer even care about it. I'd almost rather be at college because we're behind in Psychology and it feels like time is running out. It's as if I'm living every single day waiting for the last grain of sand to drop through into the bottom of the hourglass. I don't feel like I'm living life by my own time. 

I wish I could continue writing and try to make all of that make sense, but I have three essays to do and two books to read. I don't have time. 

Besos ♥
Rachel