______.

"You're falling apart."

I haven't heard that escape the lips of just one of my friends in the past week or two.
The words drift towards me, sucking the oxygen from my mouth, slowly weaving their way around my body, around my mind, around every part of me. I know they're true. I know my friends are right.

I'm falling apart.
In mind.
In body.
In spirit.

But I honestly don't know what to do to stop it.
I don't know what I did to start it.

Actually, I can guess. It is what I am suppressing that is making me this way. I can't pick and choose what areas of my life I want to be numb about. If I am going to be numb about him dying, I'm going to be numb about everything. But I can't deal with the fact that he's dead. I can't deal with the fact that next time I go to India (I don't even want to go back now, so who knows when that's going to be), he won't be there. I haven't cried about him dying since last weekend. And after that, I chose to push it to the back of my mind. I can't mourn. I don't have time. I don't have energy.

Fuck everything.
Seriously.
Fuck school.
Fuck grades.
I probably won't get into NYU anyway, despite dedicating my life to this fucking school and taking so many difficult classes and joining so many extracurriculars and despite the fact that I want it so effing bad.

And then where will I be?
Then, I'll take a year off and go to a stupid art college in California. Fuck around. Not do anything. Live at home.

FUCK. I don't want to think about him. I don't. Want. To. Think.
But I can't not think and still do well in school, as I've found out. It's not possible.
It's not.

BUT I AM SO SICK OF CRYING. I AM SO SICK OF BEING SAD. So I choose not to think about it. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. Typing the truth over and over and over again, releasing my confusion is so satisfying. So fucking satisfying. My fingers type the things I find impossible to say.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKK.
Obscenities never felt so FUCKING good.
FUCK.
FUCK.
FUCK.

Come back.