I hate myself. Same old same old. I could say that the devil is strong. I could say that I’m weak. Both would be true.
I’m sick, of being sick, and moping around about how much I hate reality and my life and how much I don’t want it like this.
I’m tried. I’m not sleeping because of the dramas, but I can’t find anything gripping to read – not that I’m looking hard.
I want to ask for help but I don’t. I don’t want to burden someone else, and I don’t want to say any of it out loud. That will change everything.
At these times I don’t know what to do with myself. Can’t pray, can’t write poetry, can’t sing – haven’t written a song in ages,and nothing’s suitable on my karaoke app. Don’t even know what kind of music I should listen to to go with my mood. Should I go with soft or something hard and fast. Just tried soft and it didn’t work, looking for something else – not finding it.
Sitting on the floor writing because I figure this will be the most comfortable right now. Still switching songs and skipping every single one. If I could dance well from my head I’d turn something up and go for it. Maybe I need to plug my ears with it. That would probably be better.
Penmanship looks like crap. Just switched genres because K-pop wasn’t doing it for me. Chrisette Michele. Cool. Sounds similar to a gospel artist I used to listen to. Used to. Can’t listen to those anymore really.
It’s after 1 a.m. … and I hate myself.
According to all the movies I have watched, and there have been quite a few, teenagers usually rebel against their parents. They yell, colour their hair, maybe get a tattoo or piercing, start hanging out with strange friends. They play music loud as all hell in their rooms, and absolutely no one – especially their parents – is allowed to go in. They usually cause trouble, worry their parents to death, and then tell them to stay out of their lives because they don’t know anything.
Of course they don’t all do this. There are good ones too, who do well at school, go home on time, have no social life, and are very obedient to their parents. I was one of those.
I didn’t have a room to play music in or keep anyone out of. I didn’t have friends to mess around with. I never had any inclination to pierce any part of me apart from my ears which have always been pierced. If I was going to get a tattoo I was going to do it when I got older anyway. I was perfectly fine with not having a life outside of school and my house. That’s just the way it was. I didn’t know anything else.
I was very depressed in the ninth grade, but I think I got over it by the next year. Now suddenly I’m remembering that time…because I’m depressed again, and just like then, I don’t have anyone I can tell who will understand. At least, I don’t think so.
Oh, teenagers. Well I’m not a teenager. And when I was one, I was a mature one. I never got into any trouble worth talking about. But now I have a room, and I would love it if I could stay in here and never leave. I absolutely hate having to leave this room. I’m emotional, very emotional. I want to cry all the time, and I hate when I want to cry and no tears come up. I think about boys a lot – well not boys, just having a boyfriend. I don’t have a boyfriend. I also think I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life because I will never find anyone who understands me. Teenagers are like that aren’t they? They think no one understands them? Well I think that too. So, well, what am I then?