I've put up with you for a long time now. I love you, I do, but REALLY! You are not the only one in the world with problems, okay? Not everything is about you and your stupid boy troubles. Seriously, he is just. Not. Interested. Stop complaining how he doesn't give you enough attention or wants to talk to someone else. He isn't your plaything you get to claim as yours. You start yelling at me because he read what was on my shirt and you thought he was staring at my chest? Really? You're my best friend. Practically my sister. But not every single conversation has to be about your obsession, alright?

I have tree different shriks who everyone thinks I have different conditions, but I am just playing them. I read up on some different psycological conditions and fake them. I even said I would so it is kinda their falt for not listening...

I have a Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, with the first.

A Social Anxiety Disorder with the second

and a severe depression that is bipolar with the third...

I feel like I am never able to love somebody and my life doesn't make any sense. I dont want to take it away, because that hurts. but every day is just the same, no difference, every day the same routine, the same people, the same.. anything.
I cant live in a world like this.
And, I have no emotions or something, I dont care if I hurt my "friend", somebody fell or something like that. I just don't care about it, I dont cry, I dont feel mercy.
I am probably one of the worst creations walking around.

Sorry Awen Moonshine. Couldn't help but notice that you have nearly demanded that all people do in this topic is just dump out everything that is bothering them. But no one can help by replying to what people have said. Why have you disallowed such?

I’m leaving for a new school, this September. One of my friends is coming with me, who I’d consider my ‘best friend’. It’s taken me so long to get to know people here, why am I doing this to myself? Why can’t I just stay on here, like everybody else?

Why do I pretend like I don’t already know the answer? This school is terrible, it’s a dump, it’s going nowhere, it’s getting better, the funding is increasing, it could get better, and it could be great. But not in time for me.
How come I was born here, with my dad’s family, rather than my mother’s on the other side of the country? It could be the other side of the world; for all that it matters to them. Do they ever think of me? The welcome never comes, when we take the time to visit them. I used to get so sick, visiting them. I don’t get so sick anymore, but I dread it, nevertheless. Are we unwanted? Do they blame my father for taking their daughter away? It never feels like home. They tell me that I’m going to visit them for weeks on my own, this summer, for work experience at their farm. I don’t think I can do it. I don’t know if I can.

Does my mother care, having moved away from her childhood, to this sad little going-nowhere town? It’s the worst area in the country, statistically, isn’t it? The main city here, it might be ‘regenerating’, but it’s still a symbol of utter failure. When there’s nothing left for you, move here. Like the teacher says, we should paint on our town sign, ‘Welcome to X. What’s the point?’ That’s the mentality everybody has, and it’s crushing me. How can I hope to apply to a good university with a place like this on my record? They’ll just laugh, graduates of private schools, home tutored. I hate them. I hate them so much. Why can they get ahead in life, based on their parents bank balance? It’s not fair. It’s a never ending cycle. I can never get out of it?

Why didn’t I pick a good high school in the first place? Simple. I followed my ‘friends’, of whom exactly none I now consider to be friendly to me. I’m completely different to them. Why is that? I’ve pretended for years, I suppose. What’s wrong with me? Why do I have to be the one sat in the corner? It’s not what I want. I want to be in a big group, with people who I can idly chat with about whatever comes to mind. I don’t want a little group of friends. I want a big group. I call them ‘fake’, but isn’t that just normal? I can only insult them for having something that I don’t, because if I didn’t I would realise what a complete failure I am. I missed one question on one paper, last week. I truly think I may have destroyed my entire future.

I don’t get angry. I get quiet. I inherited that trait from my father. I can keep calm, in any situation. I can keep a straight face, a clear voice, and articulate some large words that confuse and anger you, sister. I wish I could shout like you can, have it be over in a second and move on, rather than let it seethe.

‘Do you think we’re fine?’ I ask, knowing you’ll affirm it, because maybe you’re happy like this. They make more sense to you. They always have done. I’m kind of on the edge, begging for scraps of attention. I can act loud, and maybe even ‘funny’, but it’s calculated, to the very last pathetic decimal place. That’s not how I think, though. I really don’t, you know. I think sometimes that people hate me for playing down that I am smart, but it’s the only way. People don’t try here. They don’t need to try, maybe. I have to try. My brain is the only thing I have. I wasn’t born a beautiful person. That’s why I still don’t make an effort. What’s the point? Some days, I do my absolute best, and it takes me so long. And yet, I can’t compare with you, putting in no effort, and yet trumping me so completely. It’s easier to give up.


I’m honestly not more than above average, in my head. I matured quicker, in some ways, and so much more slowly, than others. I could see, years ahead of you, aspects of the world that I still don’t think you quite grasp. But then, I take life too seriously. I’ll never live it to the full, the way I’m living, will I? It’s scaring me the way that I’m not living. I don’t do things that are normal for my age group. I don’t want to smoke, or drink, or have sex, yet. I don’t understand why I have to. Can’t I wait for love, if it ever arrives? How can they call this ‘love’, when they have so many different partners in such a short time scale? They talk about ‘broken hearts’, but it’s so childish. So childish. And yet, it makes me the child. I don’t want to grow up, then.

I want to love somebody, I can pretend to myself that there is somebody who feels the same way, that one day we’ll meet, but maybe that will just never happen. I can carry on waiting, which is what I want to do, but maybe its better just to accept reality and find somebody who I don’t really like, who doesn’t really like me, who is ugly and sad and desperate enough. But I don’t care about ugly. I can say that as many times as I like, because it really is true. Why do people have to be beautiful? Who decided what was beautiful? I want to hurt them, because they make people cry, they make people want to hurt themselves, they make people want to die, because they aren’t one of the beautiful people.

I’m crying now, and I don’t know why. I don’t feel particularly sad. I don’t want to die. I want to live, and see what the future holds for me. I want to have children, enough though everything about me tells me I might not ever get to do that. I’m destined for a career, a long one, maybe a good one, in a clean white house that nobody loves, that we just go back to when work ends, flip on the TV and wait for the next day. I love my children, already, although they aren’t born. I want the best for them. I’ll put them in the best schools; I’ll get them lessons in whatever skill they choose, just so long as they can feel as though they’re special in some way. I don’t want to share them with anybody. It scares me that one parents can have so much control, even abort a child without the other’s consent. Why doesn’t the father matter? Isn’t that life half theirs?

Why do people hurt people? I want to, sometimes. But then again, I don’t think I ever have, truly? I know who we’ve hurt. We systematically destroyed her life. Now, she is a child, forever. She can’t go on, as an adult, maybe. She didn’t know what was wrong, when we just wouldn’t let up our pointless confrontations of every part of her waking life. She was a scapegoat, all those years ago, when we all felt small, insecure, and worthless. It continues today. I know that she hurts herself now, because it’s the only way we notice her. We’d rather pretend that we feel sorry for her; rather pretend we don’t understand than admit to destroying her all those years ago. I knew that another person was getting abused, and yet I didn’t do anything. Sometimes I wonder if he’d okay, now. Maybe he isn’t. Maybe he is. I’ll never know, because I stay away.

Science is stupid. It makes me doubt things that I always held true. God, for example. It never occurred to me that He might now exist, or that he could be wrong. That LHC. It could destroy EVERYTHING. Or maybe it couldn’t? I really, really wish somebody would reassure me, educate me, just so I could sleep again. I can’t sleep, every night. Sometimes I just get up and walk around the house in the dark rather than shut my eyes and just hear my own thoughts. I’ll be dead, someday. Yes, but what can I do about it? I’d rather not be educated? Sometimes I know too much, sometimes I know too little. Would I ever have been aware of that, if I hadn’t have been taught out of dusty old books, all my life?

Children annoy me. They don’t have a clue. They know that they are the best thing ever created. They are right. They will surpass me, because how could they fail to? I’m not very old, but already they are growing up complacently with things that would have amazed me to the point of tears. Adults, too. It sounds so cliché, but can they ever really understand? Maybe they have forgotten. Maybe they never really knew. I whole heartedly agree that some youths are a deep problem in today’s society. But please, please, don’t lump me into that group. I’ve never done anything to deserve that sort of thought to be directed at me. Even me, I see adults looking afraid, or suspicious, when we walk into the town. I’m really quite unassuming to look at, so it must be because I’m young. Old people are angry, because they are no longer young. Just let me live out my own youth, okay? I am not you. I can’t give you back the chances you never took. Let me take mine.

I see signs with ‘Only one person under 16 at a time’. How, in today’s society, where everybody is so paranoid about discrimination, can that possibly be acceptable? It just makes me feel sad, that they’ll never see us as anything other than a nuisance. They wonder why we are in such a hurry to grow up, to do things as adults do. I think that it is because we don’t want to stay as teens, trapped past childhood, and yet unable to become a full member of society without getting looking at with suspicion, or contempt. It’s easier to grow up, than stay at the halfway point, the benefits of neither, the drawbacks of both.

It scares me that I’ve written so much about nothing, and there is so much more to say. There’s nothing wrong with my life, maybe. I have what a lot of people would kill for. There is nothing wrong with me. The fear is in everybody, I sometimes think. Some express it differently, diagnosing themselves with disorders or illnesses to make sense of it. Sometimes, they are wrong, and that is disturbing to me. Why give yourself a label that doesn’t fit, to make sense of that fear? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t doubt that there are people out there that are truly suffering from those problems, but please, don’t pretend that you are one of them, if you’re not. You can’t understand, as I can’t, how it is to live with those conditions.

It’s odd to look at what I’ve written. Nothing there makes me a spectacularly unlucky person. And yet, I cried the whole way.


EDIT: I got three food for that post. I lol'd. I feel better.