A lifetime of Desperation

Random Thoughts from me to You.

Laying on the soft grass feels nice. So does sitting on a bench at the park with the sun just in the right position, and so does it feel when resting on someone else's lap.

Sitting on the bathroom floor, well... that's a different story. And even more when it's not your own bathroom but a cold, smelly school restroom no one has bothered to clean.
And of course it doesn't make it any better to be crying... or sobbing, or desperetly gasping for air when your lungs just want to stop breathing. Although it kinda distracts you from your cold butt and whatever "that" is.

No one can help you, for no one will understand. Not even that one "nice kid" (God knows what he was up to last night) that heard those dying-seal-sounds coming from the bathroom and bothered to ask if you were ok, nor your parents or your two so-called-friends and obviously not that one person we will not mention for their own good.

But that's not the worse part of the day. You'll soon have to stand up and face what caused the mess, face all of those assholes whose poor mother's were cursed for giving birth to them, face those nosey teachers, and face that one person not worth mentioning, before even thinking of doing other disastrous things that could have been done in that bathroom stall if certain someone hadn't tried to be strong for once in their lives. Oh well.

So then your "friends"approach and ask if you're ok, so you obviously tell them you're ok and that you just needed some space or some similar lie so that you can run away from that shithole and those assholes you just made eye-contact with.
But oh no! Your lie was too big and elaborate it didn't give you enough time to run away on time and now you're here standing in front of a bunch of morons that are calling you names and tossing you around like a basketball.

And then you start thinking of how much you want to get home, how much you want to be alone and how much you would like to have some braver friends that would stand up for you once in a while instead of running away and "casually" looking for some forgotten textbook that seems to be really deep in their lockers.

While all of this keeps going on in your head, that one question remains unanswered; why do they pick on you and not on that sporty blue eyed football player? Maybe because you're too short or too tall, or too emo or too stylish, or too fearful or too weird. And that's when you realize something. They pick on you because you have too much of something, they pick on you because you're different, because you're special and they can't stand you. But then again it could be just because you're ugly and fun to mess around with.

Soon enough they get bored and leave you alone. You stay there in the middle of the corridor trying to gather your thoughts and the rest of your belongings, including that precious ripped photograph that fell from your pocket.

You feel better because for a minute you told yourself you were special, but you're not ok and you'll never be because a) you're probably wrong b) you had just been crying on the bathroom floor c) this is your life every single day of your fucking existence and it's not going to get any better unless some weird illness kills all selfish humans on earth, which would be the same as killing everyone to be honest.

So with that on your head you start walking towards the only place you feel safe at; nowhere.