i saw your father for the first time in months.

i haven’t taken the bus to work in a long time. today was the first in months. it was running late, so when it finally arrived my lips curled into a smirk. even more of a reason to feel spiteful; your father was going to make me late for work. as i climbed onto the bus, he shot me that fake smile that i have not missed one bit.

“off to work?”

“yeah.” i shot him the widest smile i could plaster onto my face, in hopes that he’d pass on the message that i’m doing better than okay.

i know he will. i know he’ll go home and tell you everything. he’ll talk as if he knows me, when all the ‘knowledge’ he has to go on has come from small talk during dinner at yours. he’ll attempt to read between the so-called lines that don’t exist in reality. he’ll blow it all out of proportion, because that’s just how he is.

and i know what you’ll do in return.

you’ll say you don’t care. and maybe you don’t. neither do i.

i just find it funny how you’ll think you know my life story from what he, of all people, will tell you.

you don’t know anything about what’s been going on with me, but i could care less about that anymore.

The dull, brown hair that you admired as you ran your fingers through; the plain face you looked at even after the makeup had been washed off; the scarred skin that you touched after I’ve moisturized to hide my rough eczema.

I can’t say any of that is gone per se, but I know they’ve definitely changed.

 I know I told you I’d change the way I am for when you do decide to come back to me. It was only now that I realized your promises of returning and loving me regardless were just ways to ease me into accepting the circumstances. I applaud you for making me believe in false hope. It was a nice touch. So if was just a lie, then why should I feel obligated to keep my end of the bargain?

I’m changing for myself. I dyed my hair because I’ve gotten bored of the shit-brown strands that constantly fall around my round face. At least the vibrancy of the purple distracts people from the chubbiness you supposedly overlooked. I put makeup on (and will continue to do so) because I’m insecure, and can’t stand looking in the mirror everyday, trying to accept this mediocre canvas for what it is.

It’s all strictly physically, that’s all that’s been changing. You left because of the way I am, and although that’s a shame, things happen. I just want you to know that anything I do from this point and on is for myself and none of it will ever be because of you. I used to dedicate my life to you and look at where that’s got me.

I’m done with that.

I’ve changed.

there is either something wrong with me, or something wrong with me.

i’ve layered my school uniform, which should be thick enough to endure the air conditioning we have. yet i’ve still been freezing to the point of random, minute convulsions in class. granted they don’t last long, but i still have them nonetheless.

i’m tired, but i cannot sleep. i’m nauseous but i’m hungry. however, i can neither vomit or eat, and they cancel each other out so i’m left with this empty feeling at the pit of my stomach. i can’t eat because my body won’t let me; i can’t vomit because there’s nothing to regurgitate.

i’d go to the doctor’s, but i already know what my cure is.

and unfortunately, it’s packed up and left.

you wait until you’ve brought me to my highest just to grab me by my wings and rip me back down. if i was a masochist, i don’t think i could ever hurt myself more than you already do to me.

i should’ve known better than to trust you. 

i don’t know who you are anymore. i’m not sure i ever knew who you were.