I Don't Know Myself Anymore Novels & Stories

“Maybe I like it a little. Like a very small microscopic amount. Like the size of a grain of rice. Or a flea. Or a dust particle that got lost in a hurricane and accidentally landed in my frontal lobe and made me say that. “Because obviously I don’t love being used like a personal fuckdoll by my best friend’s father while my mum is out here planning my permanent relocation like this is the fucking Sims.” He rolled his hips again and I moaned so loud it sounded illegal. “I’m not okay,” I whined. “I’m genuinely not. Like I don’t even know who I am anymore. What’s my name? What year is it? How do I walk? Because I’m pretty sure you’ve rearranged my organs and I’ll have to pee out of my throat f

he said, voice raw, “you are more real to me than anything in this house.” I wanted to believe him. I wanted to fall into his arms and forget the files and the phone call and the metal chair my mother cried in. But something inside me had shattered. And I didn’t know how to piece it back together. I turned away, staring at the moonlight cutting across the floor. My reflection stared back at me in the window—silent. Questioning. “I don’t even know who I am anymore,” I whispered. “Not really.” “I do,” he said.

"Don’t rush yourself to feel everything." I shook my head, my grip on myself tightening. “You don’t get it. I can't—” My voice cracked, and I sucked in a sharp breath, trying to swallow down whatever it was. "I don’t know what part of me is really mine. I don't know what was real and what was just borrowed time."

He doesn’t just look disappointed in me. He looks disappointed in himself. There is no one else to blame... but me. I blame me. I don’t even know who I am anymore. The person I thought I was—the one who believed in right and wrong, in justice, in doing what was necessary—feels like a stranger.

“If I let myself want this—you—then I’m not the person I thought I was. Everything I thought I knew about myself, it just… cracks.” He froze. “And that scares you more than losing me?” I looked at him, heart pounding. Because yeah, it did. And I hated that. “I don’t know who I am anymore,” I said. My voice cracked, and I didn’t care. Brandon’s expression softened for half a second. Just half. Then the wall went back up. “That’s not my fault. That’s something you need to figure out. But don’t drag me along if you’re just gonna disappear the second things get real.”

I let him remind me who I belong to. Because for now, it’s easier than admitting that I don’t know anymore.

I do not know who I will become. I do not know what waits for me. I do not know how much fear is still inside me. But I know this one thing now. I am not alone. And for the first time in my life, this is not a promise. It is a feeling.

When did I become this person? I try to remember a time when I didn’t feel so unlike myself, and I can’t. Because the truth is I don’t remember what it feels like to feel like… me. I’ve been lost for a long time, so lost that I’m starting to wonder if maybe this feeling of nothingness is the new me.

I live in a fog, floating from moment to moment, waiting for something to pull me back into reality. But I have absolutely no idea if it ever will. I have no idea if I will ever again be me.

“You were there. When it mattered.” He looked at me for a long time. “You would’ve done the same.” “I don’t know,” I whispered. “Lately I feel like I don’t even know who I am anymore.” He leaned back, resting his arms on his knees. “You’re Angie. You have to fix yourself.” I blinked. Fix myself? I smiled a little. Letting it slide He stood up “You’re confusing, you know that?” I Said looking up slightly. He smirked. “You’re not exactly simple either.”