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I need to write this down. I have to ask some questions, even though you can’t give me answers. I wish someone could. I’m so confused. Is it normal to be so confused all the time? I know teenagers are supposed to be trying to find themselves, but by 16, aren’t they supposed to have some idea? Aren’t they supposed to have things that make them happy? Why don’t I?? Music works sometimes, but other times it makes me more depressed. And aren’t Teens supposed to have people they can talk to? Like friends?? I can talk to Maria, sometimes. Her and I are just so different. I don’t understand how we can be such great friends. I can’t talk to her about everything. She doesn’t know that I have ever considered killing myself. She doesn’t know that I’ve held the knife to my wrist before. No one knows that but Brandy. How come I could tell Brandy but not Maria?? And how come I haven’t just slit my wrists already or took a bottle of pills?? I guess cause I’m afraid. I don’t want to leave my family and my few close friends without someone to talk to. Isn’t that all I am to them??? I get so mixed up sometimes. I want everyone to know that I’m going insane, yet I don’t. I’m afraid it will hurt them too much. I want to break down in tears, but I just pretend like everything is okay and even when I want to be depressed, I can’t help but to fake that smile. It’s like a bad habit that you can’t shake. I know I’m not normal. I know I’m slowly losing my mind. I can feel it, but no one else can. Why not??? Why don’t they understand that I hate myself so much and I know it’s wrong to hate yourself so much, so I end up hating myself even more. When Sarah told me she was going to kill herself last year, I asked how she could even consider the fact. I told her that it was wrong and that there were other ways out of her problems. Then I asked myself if I was trying to convince her or if I was trying to convince myself. Then I was happy that Sarah had come out with it. And now I see her try to make herself better. Wait a minute; I know that doesn’t work. I know it doesn’t work because I’ve tried it. Since Jr. High, I’ve tried to convince myself that I’m pretty and people like me. Then I laugh at myself because I know I don’t believe it. I always ask myself why no guy has ever liked me and the only thing I can think of is the fact to I’m an ugly loser. What am I supposed to do? I know I should tell someone about how I feel, but then I have to go through a shrink and that would just my parents more money. I’m afraid that one day I’m going to explode. One day that knife will go threw my skin and Then everyone will soon see how crazy I am. Then they’ll take me to a shrink and then they’ll found out about the voices I hear and I awful condition I’m in. Then they will always be wry around me and not only that, but they will be disappointed. I’ll end up alone, and that’s the last thing I want. Or is it? That’s the only thing that holds me back from pushing that knife into me skin and from drinking that bottle of cough meds, isn’t it? I wish I knew. I wish I knew what was wrong with me so I could fix it and I could make my family really proud. I don’t think I’ll ever make my family proud, though. To make them proud, don’t I have to be good at something? Well, I’m not good at any thing. Nada. Nothing. Not a thing.
{Writer's note: This is FICTIONAL! It is an extreme on feelings I felt. I just wanted to make that clear so no one worries about me. ¦Þ)
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the feelings