I don’t know what happened.

I stared at this sentence.
I stared at it.
I stared at it while tears were dripping down my cheeks.

The pen in my hand was shaking, resting its tip on the blank paper.

How?

My hand moved over the paper, leaving the black letters behind.

I still love him.
 

It broke my heart. 

The first weeks, I tried to stay at school, but I realized that I couldn’t. I went away. I drifted off. One whole month, I tried to understand what had happened. My mind was filled with questions, my heart was broken into a million pieces. I went to a place where no one could find me. But duties forced me to go to school again. One whole month I had spent to try forgetting. But it all came back.

I crawled into the darkest corner of my soul, surrounded myself with loneliness and thoughts. Sad thoughts. Questions. Questions which never had and will never have answers. The voices in my head screamed at me, pointed at me, hurt me with their words. I was unable to do anything against them. The words dug into my skin, leaving deep wounds and almost unbearable pain. It happened again. And again. It didn’t stop.

Afraid of going home, I spent nights at the library. I had no place to go. I was alone. It wasn’t soon after, people called me a loner. Unsociable and cold. They talked about me with their hands covering their mouths. They stared at me, pointed at me. Like the voices in my head did.

He was always there for me. Whether I needed help with school or if it was because of something else, he was always at my side. I felt like the luckiest girl on earth, sitting on a throne of flowers, surrounded by happiness. Dullness didn’t exist. Sadness didn’t exist. There was only Lu Han and me.

My eyes were red and swollen. There was no day I didn’t shed a tear. Those voices didn’t let me forget about him, recalled memories in my head, remembering me of those beautiful moments I wanted to let go. I cried, biting my crackly lips, trying to endure the pain. They told me that it was my fault. Was it my fault? I eventually came to the conclusion that it was. Pictures of her appeared in my head. It felt like flipping through an old photo album. Her face was burnt into my mind. I should never forget her. They made sure I didn’t.

My diary’s sheets were wavy from all the tears which had already fallen on it. I wrote my thoughts into it, every night. There was no night, since the incident, I had missed. Writing my thoughts down. Writing it all down. The pain, the sadness. It used to help me through difficult time. But it seemed that my dairy had transformed into a collection of self-hatred and self-blaming. Every time I went through it, it hurt even more, but I couldn’t stop myself from doing so. I should never forget her. I should never forget what had happened. And who caused it.

My grades went down, my parents complained. They told me to study more. They didn’t see my tears. They didn’t see how much I hurt. They just told me to study. They blamed each other, argued every night about me. I was the main topic. I was the reason why they argued. I was the blame.

In school, I mentally walked away. I drifted off. I arrived at the darkest edge of life. I stood there. One foot on the edge, my eyes stared down into the darkness. Was I ready to go? Every time, there was the voice, calling me back. It was his voice. For one moment, he held my hand tightly, pulling me back. He saved me, I thought. But all he did was bringing me back to all the pain.

Am I the only one suffering?