I live in a world that is filled with fake understanding. People saying they understand what I’m going through, that they understand who I am and that they understand that this is just a cry for help. They are so full of crap, they don’t understand anything. If they did, they wouldn’t be telling me they did, because that would make them as pathetic as me.

Two years ago, my best friend died. He was walking down the street and a drunk driver hit him. Guess who the drunk driver was? No, not me, but my boyfriend, going for a joyride in my car because I had lent it to him. I had been so fed up that night, telling Joe, my boyfriend, that I didn’t care anymore, that if he wanted to get drunk, he could leave, and if he died, I wouldn’t care. Well Joe did me one better, he didn’t die, but Pete did. Pete who would laugh with me and smile with me and even cry with me was dead, all because of my stupid words, my stupid boyfriend, and Pete’s stupid bad luck.

So when people tell me they understand, I know that they don’t. They couldn’t possibly, because when it’s your fault that your best friend is dead, you know that no one can relate with that. When they say that they understand, but I really should go see Joe in rehab, or that going to Pete’s grave will help me grieve, I laugh in their faces, because they have no idea what I feel, and they don’t understand at all. Don’t tell me that you understand, don’t pretend, I would much rather have you look confused or shocked, than sympathetic. I don’t need the pity, all I need is for time to move backwards so that I could do that night over, so that I could save Pete and leave Joe. So that I could rearrange my life into what I was supposed to be and not the mess it is now.

The truth is, it really is my fault that Pete is dead, and I live with that everyday, don’t hurt me more by telling me you understand. I don’t want to hear it, all I want is to go on and remember, after all, remembering is so much better than understanding.