It's Weird

It’s weird, you know, I have these… dreams.
Well, they’re not dreams, because I’m awake, but I don’t know what to call them so for the sake of time, let’s call them dreams.

So I have these dreams. I’ll be sitting on my couch or lying in my bed, and I’ll just imagine some random hot Asian guy knocking on my window. And of course I’ll let him in, even though I don’t know him. Most of the time it’s the same guy in all these dreams.

And so I’ve let him in and I’m shivering. Most of the time I actually am shivering, I am a very cold-blooded person.

And he’ll wrap his warm, tan arms around me and tell me he loves me. Tell me he’ll be what I need. Tell me that I don’t need to change a thing because he loves me the way I am. Tell me that I don’t need to cut anymore or burn myself because he’s there. Tell me I’m not too broken to love, not to scared to be not be able to stitch up. And then he’ll hold me and love me.

Maybe girls are a hassle – I probably am one. But I just wish this. Especially now when I’m shivering so badly.

And I know it’s weird. I know you’re thinking, 1. You’re letting a freaking stranger into your house. He could be a murderer. You stupid…. And then you’re thinking 2. You don’t know him and he’s telling you he loves you. Do you even remotely see something wrong with that!? And then you’re thinking, 3. HOLD you!? LOVE YOU!? Are you saying what I think you’re saying!? (To which the answer would be, yes, you are thinking what I am saying, if you are so thinking that way.) And you would think 4. You don’t even know this guy and you want him to… cough… LOVE and HOLD you. You little slut! Hormonal girls…. And then you’re thinking, 5. Girls ARE a hassle.

So you see, I know what you were thinking. Or at least something along those lines.

But this is true. I want all of this… so badly.

And it can’t be anyone I know, because all those boys are immature jerks. And maybe I’m immature because I want love and all that, and you think that I have all the time in the world for that.

Well, actually, you don’t know when you’re going to die. I could die tomorrow and my life would’ve been forever loveless. I do NOT have all the time in the world, shit! I know I’m still a kid to you but I want love, and I want it bad, I just want to know someone loves me, someone cares for me in that way.

Maybe I’m clinically depressed. Because I have all these nice things, I have a wonderful family in which really the single only problem, but a bi one nonetheless, is that mom drinks and smokes. And even she hasn’t been that drunk in a while and I think she’s cutting down. I mean, I don’t know whether or not she’s been drunk lately, because when she’s tired she acts the same as she does when she’s drunk. But still, I don’t think she has.

So really, you say, I really have nothing to be sad about. Only at night when the time comes and mom’s drunk. And still you can live with that, right? You can live with when she’s drunk until the next morning, just for three more years and then you’re gone.

I know. I keep telling myself that, too. But for some reason I’m always… cold inside. Sad. Unloved. And I can’t deal with it when she’s drunk. It hurts. It really, really, really, really hurts. Times a million, it hurts me.

It hurts me because I kind of think it’s my fault. She’s always so stressed and if I wasn’t alive she would be happier and have less to deal with and have more money and not be so poor because she wouldn’t have my mouth to feed. I feel it’s my fault when she smokes because I know it’s another release.

It really hurts. And whenever I think about it I just feel like I either want to kill her, to get this hurt and anticipation of her dying OVER FUCKING WITH or I just want to kill myself to make everything just stop. There is no afterlife, no feeling, and the only pain I would have to deal with would be that last one before I died. And still I could go for the pills. Pop more than twenty pills down and I just flutter off into oblivion. Nothingness. And then I’m dead. Finis. Caput. It’s strange how calmly I reason with myself the many ways I could die.

I worry about brain damage so a shot to the head wouldn’t work. I could live through a shot to the heart if I didn’t aim carefully enough. I could hang myself… but then I think that maybe I wouldn’t do it, and I would chicken out. I mean I’ve hung myself up before. I’ve just never stepped off the chair. The feeling of the rope around your neck knowing that you can choose to live or die… sometimes I just stand there feeling the coolness and scratchiness of it. How calm I feel. Relaxed. Ready.

But I never do it.

So screw hanging.

I could cut myself. But it’s sort of the same with hanging. I can cut myself deep, but really is blood seeping out of me the last thing I want to see? And it would hurt… if it started to hurt too much I would stop. I’ve never cut deep. I don’t know if I could cut hard.

I’ve thought of it. I’ve put my nail to my skin, imagining it’s the razor, and dragged it slowly, getting harder and harder with the pressure, up my wrist to my elbow. I’ve grabbed my razor and lightly dragged it across the same line, then got ready to actually do it… and haven’t. I just couldn’t.

I could pop pills. That idea doesn’t sound too bad. Grad a bottle of Tylenol before I head out the door – extra strength to make sure. And then get to school (because I would chicken out at home), and just slowly start gulping them down. Walk around the school and stop at each water fountain, gulping two or thee at each. Then, once the bottle of Tylenol was empty, I would go and sit at my locker, resting my head on my knees, getting ready for death to come.

If you’re still reading this, I want you to know I’m not suicidal. I want to kill myself, but I don’t want to die. Well, only sometimes I want to die.

It’s like someone’s giving me thoughts. Putting these harmful, suicidal voices in my head… telling me that I’m worthless, nothing, ugly, not worthy of being loved, I deserve to die.. All that. But then it sounds like my voice. It feels real to me. I believe it.

So maybe I am depressed. Because I have all these good things and yet still I can only think of the bad. Still I can only think that I should die. That I should kill myself.

Maybe they should put me into an asylum.

I don’t believe anything about heaven or hell or anything being there for you in the afterlife. No humans, or animals, have a soul. It’s never been proven, and I don’t believe in it, because I can’t feel one inside me. So what I think about death is just you die. You just die and it just stops. No more life, no more emotions, you’re dead. That’s it.

However, I do… dream (again, don’t know if I should call it a dream, but…) about not dying, and ending up living because I’m actually a vampire, or a demon, or something like that, but my powers would only rise once the human part of me was killed off. Something like in Cat Woman, that movie with Halle Barry. I would become something better.

And I would leave this place, find love, and be happy.

It’s always about being happy. Everybody wants it. Everybody craves for it. We all crave for something, want something. The richest people in the world hope for more. No human can be truly happy because they always believe there is something better that they could have, and then they’d be happy. And then something better, and better, and better still.

But I think… I’m pretty sure… that if I just was loved… if I just was loved for who I am and how I look… I think I would be happy. And want nothing else. I just want to be happy and loved. That’s it. Happiness and love, two simple words with simple meanings, but so hard to get. So hard to explain the emotion behind these two simple words. Yet they are all I wish for. All I dream.

It really isn’t simple for a girl like me. People say I’m pretty but really I’m not. People say I’m fun and a good friend, but I’m feeling excluded. I find pictures of parties and stuff like that on Facebook, stuff that I would’ve been invited to before.. But for some reason, now I’m not. Over the summer things changed… I called them but they didn’t call for me. They never invited me places. They never messaged or texted me. I was alone. And now, back at school, it’s like I’m just a follower. No one really talks to me. I just follow along with the crowd, trying not to cry because they’re all laughing at personal jokes that I wasn’t there to get.

The people who used to be my best friends suddenly barely speak to me. Since I don’t have any classes with them, we’re drifting farther and farther. Stephanie, the girl who I befriended in grade seven, when both she and I were loners… We used to be able to tell each other everything. I’d know everything about her. Now she’s got new best friends: Michelle and Pippa

Pippa used to be one of my very closest friends, too. I daresay we were best friends. Now she contradicts me about everything and gets mad at me for reasons that confuse me, and give me looks that clearly say, ‘go away.’

And Isabelle. The popular girl. I don’t really know remember how we got to be such close friends with her. It was spontaneous, and cool. Isabelle really was another close, close friend. And now she doesn’t really hang out with us at lunch much anymore, anyway it’s not only the four of us. Now it’s a ton of different people. I’m not mad at that, but Isabelle and I definitely aren’t as close.

We have so many memories together. I wonder if they ever think of them and smile, or is that only me? I feel as if it’s only me. I feel as if they’ve all changed, moved forward, and I was left behind because I liked the past better. I was stuck in it. And I didn’t notice that we’d drifted apart until it was too late.

Now I’m just acquaintances or sort-of close friends with everybody, even them. It’s strange how everything changed and I didn’t even realize it. I was stopping to smell the flowers while they had altogether unnoticed the blooms. They hadn’t noticed I wasn’t there, with them.

Others are taking the place where I used to be.

And I feel so sad all the time… I used to be sad before, too, but I forgot about it because they were around and made me feel happy… made me feel cared for and made my personality feel appreciated. I forgot what it was like to hurt because I ignored mother’s drinking and when I saw suddenly that she was intoxicated, I would lock myself in my room and call one of them and we would just talk.

When I cal one of them now it’s awkward. Really. There will be many silences… and fake laughs. I’ve lost who I am because they’re not here to tell me anymore. They don’t know who I am, either. We’re not a square another. We used to be. Now we’re not even connected. They’re connected to other people, and left me alone… with no one.

I don’t know if they even remember my name.

Maybe that’s why I want to be loved so badly. I want to be able to ignore the feeling of hurt and have someone to call when I notice my mother is drunk. But I don’t, I have no one. It really hurts. Especially when I’m sick and have no one to care for me. They used to make me cookies. We would make each other cookies when one of the others were sick. They would cheer me up. I believe that to get better you have to be cheery or else you won’t be able to heal.

I’m never happy, joyful, or cheery anymore.

So depressing.

And that’s it. The end. Nothing more to say. What, were you expecting me to say… ‘And then I met ____(insert name here)____"? Did you expect me to have a happy ending?

Well you’re wrong. Luck, and love, are never with me. My nights are always lonely and sad, my days even worse.

There’s no happily ever after. This is the end, there is no more.

So depressing.

foreverBlue