"Freak."
"Nerd."
"Attention Seeker."
"Loser."
"B****."
"Wh*re."
"I hate her."
"Why doesn't she just kill herself already?"
I know what you're thinking, people said these things to me as I walked down the hallway or something. Nope. I tell these things to myself. Truth is, I grew up protected and sheltered, I went to a Catholic grade school, Kindergarten through Eighth grade, and I go to a Catholic high school. I'm a freshman, I have 'friends', and I seem fine. Screams and shouting. Hands shaking. I'm fine, just tired. I say to everyone.
I'm fine.
Just tired.
If you were to look at my life on the outside, you would think that I have no reason to be depressed. My parents are still together, I've never experienced heartbreak, I'm not abused, everyone in my life seems to love me, if you had just met me, you would never be able to guess how I feel inside. I don't even know how I feel. I'm not even sure if I classify as 'depressed'.
I look in the mirror, and I see fat.
I look in the mirror and I see ugly.
I look in the mirror and I see worthless.
Am I dying? Nobody can ever know. My parents would try to help. They would go to great lengths just to help me. To get me back to 'normal'. And I know they would, but I know they would forever look at me like I was a freak, like I was a lunatic. I cry, for no reason at all. I hide behind fake smiles. I am my own bully. I have happy memories. But I destroy them. I will experience something, and at the time, I will think it's great, it's happy, everything is okay, I said the right thing, I did the right thing, everybody loves me. But then when night comes upon the earth, and I turn out the light, I lay awake in the dark. And I revisit those once happy memories. And I tear them apart. I go through everything I did at the time, and I tell myself what I did wrong. Everything I did at the happy memory fades away and it gets tarnished into a bad memory. I'm truly happy at the time, but then later my mind distorts it and I can no longer receive happiness from that memory. I long to be famous so much it hurts. I watch all the stars be famous, I listen to the music, I watch the movies, and it saddens me. I love to act and to sing, and nobody understands that I long for happiness, and the only happiness, the only memories that I can save, and not find anything wrong with them, is the memories from when I was acting, when I was singing. Those are the only happiness I have left. It's a passion. Everyone has some thing that brings them joy. Even if it's something as tiny and unimportant as a stuffed animal or something. I want to act, I want to sing, I want to be happy. I don't think I could ever be fully depressed and suicidal and cutting, because there is something that is always lurking in the back of my mind that tells me, you don't really think that, and you know it. Like my conscience. I'll look in the mirror and say, fat, ugly. The little voice says you're not fat, you could lose some weight, like everyone else could, but you're not fat. You're not ugly, I mean you're not a supermodel, by then again, who is? Those people, on the magazines, it's not real, it's all edited to make you believe lies. I feel sometimes, like God blessed me with something. Like I'm different than everyone else. Like something is way off, more than everyone else. Like I was chosen to do something, I just don't know what. Does that make me full of myself? Because I just had that thought, and I'm just so confused with everything in life. Everyone seems to know who they are and what they want to do. But what is life anyway? We're born into the world, we grow up, we go to school, we get a job, we get married, we have children, we retire, we die. And in all of that, we make choices, and we decide between right and wrong, and by the time we die, all of our choices determine whether or not we got to Heaven or Hell. We are all just thoughts in God's head, created and placed, we were placed with a family, a mother and a father, and all of it happens for a reason. Everything happens, so something else can happen, so something else can happen, until it all leads up to our death and where we end up.
I strive to be perfect in everyone's eyes. If I make one mistake, I beat myself up for it. I know that everyone makes mistakes, and that I just make it awkward when I turn bright red, because nobody was looking when I did the embarrassing thing, and then everyone is looking at me because I turned red, looking and like I'm a freak, and I freak out and panic and nobody knows what's wrong with me and I'm so scared because I'd anyone who knows me, actually knows me, ever found out, they would never look at me the same. People would either try to help, or they would look at me like I was a freak, unstable, insane. Because nobody wants to be friends with the freak, because she's a wreck. The people, who were friends before, they would only stay friends with me because they would be afraid that I would kill myself if they left, even though they desperately want to leave me all alone to fight my own battles. I need a shoulder to cry on, a rock to lean on, a person to comfort me. Is that do bad? I seek attention. Im not faking depressed because I want people to notice me, I'm depressed, and I'm tired of feeling alone. I've felt alone for so long, and now I'm crying out. I don't want a therapist who won't understand, I don't want a parent who has lost all imagination and only sees the world as this is this and that is that. There is no creativity anymore, I don't want a parent or any adult involved, because they will look at it and will try to fix it, and they will think they can because they are educated human beings who can solve any problem. They can't, I need someone who understands, who is just like me, but is okay, and knows how to fix this. I don't know what's wrong with me and nobody is here to listen. I scream, and nobody hears, I break down, piece by piece, and nobody notices or cares. I'm a nobody, floating in a sea of lost souls. I just want to know how to get better. I don't want to be like this anymore. Can anybody help me? Can you even hear me?
I'm fine, but I'm not fine. I'm smiling, but I'm dying. I'm screaming, but I'm calm.
Can you see behind the mask I hide behind? You know who I am, you see me everyday. When are you going to help me? Why do you just stand there, and watch me drown in a river of my own tears? Do something.
anything. please, just help me.
