"now it's my own anxiety
that makes the conversation hard"

...

The sticky note weighs down my pocket for the rest of the day. I don't know what possessed me to write that on it. I don't know why it makes me feel a little better. It's as if it prevented a wave from hitting me, gave me a second to breathe. It's like it ignited a single spark left inside of me. The spark didn't last long. But it was there. I know it. The note let me hang on a little longer.

I'm upside down on the world and instead of staying rooted to the ground, I'm falling. I'm at the bottom of the world and I'm upside down when everyone else is right side up. I began to fall sometime this year, but I'm still hanging on. I'm still hanging onto the edge of the world, and even though my fingers are slipping and my hand is numb, I'm still holding on. I won't go over the edge yet. Not yet. Though it might be easier if I did.

I'm slipping off of the world and no one is helping me up, because they don't see that I'm about to fall.

I'm not the only one falling off the world. I know that. It still feels like I'm alone. Because the ones like me aren't really like me at all. Someone helps them or they let go. But I'm still hanging on because no one sees me and I refuse to let go.

Yesterday, I was thinking of letting go. I know I said I couldn't really even bring myself to care enough to let go, but not always. Sometimes I feel, still. On the worst days. Yesterday, I was about to let go.

At night, when I was about to let go, the caring vanished. So I didn't. But I was so close. And if not for the note, I probably would have let go soon. But now I'm not ready. I'm not ready to let go after so long of clinging on.

I have to hold on just a little longer. Otherwise it'll all be for nothing.

I'm tired of pretending to be okay. I'm sick of it. But I don't know what else to do, so I go about my day flashing quick smiles and laughing when necessary. By now, it's easy. It's almost instinctual.

I used to be bright yellow, I think. On all the personality quizzes, I would get yellow. All my friends would compare me to yellow: happy, vibrant, and cheerful under adversary.  It once was my favorite color. Not anymore, though. Now it only reminds me of what I lost.

I don't know what color I am now. All colors seem to bright for me. I think I'm fading from a yellow to gray.

...

Victoria asks me about history later, of course. She's too loyal to ask me in public at lunch, but even though I try to avoid her, she manages to corner me by my locker.

"What's going on with history?" she leans against the locker to the left of me, trapping me by the wall. Victoria's too good with interrogation. It's bad luck that my locker's right by the wall.

"What do you mean?"

She gives me a look. Not just any look. The look. The patented Victoria Polane look. The one she's notorious for and that she uses on idiots.

And now she's using it on me, her best friend.

But I'm not really her best friend anymore, am I? Because I've stopped doing the things best friends do. I try to be a good friend for her—she's one of the only people who can make me try. But it's not enough. It's never enough.

Victoria clears her throat and I realize she's still waiting for an answer. 

"I forgot about the essay," I say. It's true enough.

"Did you?" she doesn't believe me. I don't know if I should be relieved that she's beginning to notice or worried that she'll find out. "That's not like you, Hazel," she continues. "You used to never miss any assignment. You had straight A's!"

She doesn't mention that she knows I'm failing half of my classes. 

"I really did forget," I say, voice quavering. "Look, I'm sorry I've been distracted lately, but I have a good reason!"

Victoria closes her eyes. I know her well enough to know what this means. It means she's about to explode and is trying to contain herself. I should agree with her. I should stop this now, before everything erupts and we both say things we don't mean. 

But I don't. 

"A good reason?" she says softly. "A good reason? You have a good reason for acting like a living ghost this past year? You have a good reason for making me distracted all day, watching over you because I'm afraid you'll do something that can't be undone? You have a good reason for not saying anything when I told you about Ashlee?"

Ashlee. Victoria's sister. I don't remember Victoria telling me anything about Ashlee this year. "What about Ashlee? I don't remember you saying anything ab..."

Victoria cuts me off. "Of course you don't remember. You don't remember anything I say anymore. I shouldn't have told you when I knew you weren't really present. I knew you were off in your own perfect world, but I told you anyway."

In my own perfect world. I wish that was true. 

"I really hate you right now," Victoria says quietly. 

So do I, I want to tell her. But I can't. That'll just add to her problems. Even though I desperately want her to know. "Sorry," I say instead. 

Victoria exhales, and I know she's going to detonate. But I do nothing. 

"Is that really all you have to say?" she hisses. "I don't want to know that you're sorry, I want to know the reason all this happened. If it's so good, then why don't you tell me?"

I was afraid of this. I do have a good reason. I really do. I'm imprisoned in my own mind, have been for the last year. But I can't tell her that. I can't explain all of this. I can't in a way that'll make her understand. And I can't pin all of my problems on her. She has enough on her own. And I love her too much to shatter her. She's my best friend. She's been my best friend since second grade. I can't lose her now. I can't. I can't. I can't. 

I can't.

But if I don't tell her, then I'll lose her anyway. It's a catch-22, and there's no escape. Just like there's no escape from my mind. 

I can't.

I can't tell her, but I can't not tell her either. The only way out is to lie. The thought of it curdles my stomach, taking away the little appetite I had. 

I have to lie. To my best friend.

I can't.

There is no way out, says the voice inside my head. No. Says me. I can't blame this on some voice in my head. 

I can't. 

If I don't make a decision, and soon, Victoria will detonate and I will lose my best friend. And there won't be any getting her back, not when I'm still hanging off of the edge of the world. I can already see that Victoria's getting impatient. I have to tell her something. I have to. But---

I can't.

i  c a n ' t  i  c a n ' t  i  c a n ' t  i  c a n ' t  i  c a n ' t  i  c a n ' t

"Hazel." I break free from my trance. Victoria is crying. 

She never cries.

This is the antonym of awesome. 

"You don't really have a reason," she states. I don't say anything. I have a reason, but I can't tell her, and I can't lie to her, and there is no way out. "You're not my best friend anymore."

I can't

let her see how much this shatters me. 

I can't 

let her see that I'm broken and will never be fixed because one of the only certainties in my life is not true.

 I can't

let her see.

I can't. I can't. I can't.

"I miss my best friend," she continues, her voice barely a whisper. She wipes away a tear. "I miss my best friend. You're not Hazel anymore. I don't know who you are, but you're not Hazel. You're not my best friend. You're not the friend I've had since second grade, you're not the friend who went to every one of my swim meets. You're not the girl who I could rely on for everything. And you haven't been for the past year."

And

I am s h a t t e r e d 

in one blow.

It's amazing that your best friend is the one who can hurt you most. It's horrible that your best friend is the one who can hurt you most. Maybe they're not different things. 

After all, I am a fading contradiction.