I miss you, Ethan.

I feel so stupid, so cliche, so embarrassing.

I feel like a blonde haired, pony-tailed cheerleader, getting weepy because her football captain boyfriend took another girl home from a house party. 

I want to bleed myself completely dry.

Ethan was/is a friend of mine who I met online. He introduced me to his incredible friend group, where I formed bonds so healthy I thought I was going to be healed entirely, and it was a wonderful six months. Then-

Then the scum started to come to the surface. Middling unrest began to come out, people would have semi-public group-chat fights, leave for a month and then come back like nothing had happened, and send vague and worrying messages before disappearing for the night.

Friends started to drift away from each other like icebergs, and I, the starved arctic bear, could do nothing. So now here I am, not talking to the one fucking person who I have to thank for having friends, while calling new friend groups almost nightly. I'm more social than I've ever been, yet I still feel so lonely. I can tell he's not doing well, but I just can't reach out. All I can do is sit around feeling sorry for myself, a child choking on a child-safe medicine cap. All I can do is hope it passes safely.

I can't turn to anyone. I can't let them know I'm struggling. They don't want to know. They don't have time for me to struggle, they're busy on their own, but at the same time I'm mad at them for not noticing that anything is wrong. I hope I never get sober.

I wish something other than air would finally fill my lungs. Water, blood, gasoline, lemonade, anything to make my throat burn and tears seep from my eyes. Anything to take my breath away like you used to.