Most of the time it feels like I'm not even there. I still hear you though. I hear faint sounds of your very loud and excessive and very uninteresting ranting.

Distant I hate hers.

Someone's too good for another's liking.

School.

Period cramps and whining.

School.

Her hair.

His body.

Everyone's boyfriend and every other one's ex.

School.

God, I hate it. 

And the background chatter.

And I'm not even there. I'm detached from wherever and whenever it is.

I'm inside my inside.

I don't know where I am or what I'm talking about or what I'm supposed to say. Somebody's cupping my ears, and I'm breathing, and the rest of me, every piece is functioning on its own accord.

I wish it was always like this. Me not being there; anywhere at all. Completely uninvolved and away from what I want to be uninvolved and away from.

Because,

in these minutes of detachment from the real world, in these very few very precious minutes where I'm alone, I can think. In these minutes of incredibly calming confidentiality, every other goddamn thing, the whole goddamn world

just

stops.