Haze

Oh... You're still here?

The final bell rang, and I sluggishly walked to my car. Running would be too much effort. The halls were filled with noise, but it just sounded like ringing in my ears. Like the sound you hear after a grenade goes off and you were too close. The nauseating smell of perfume and cheap cologne mingled to make a love child of malice. The smell. The sounds. It made the walk feel like a conveyor belt was fighting me. The resistance was hard to push forward against. Like walking against a weak tsunami. If you didn't fight, the current would take you over. But I barely had any fight left for me in this hellhole.  I finally plop into my jeep. It is beat up and rusted. Kind of like my will to live. I wouldn't trade it for any sports car, it has character. Unlike any spineless millennial you'll find in every high schools.  There are some people that are okay. The rest are fake. Trying to have everyone like them. Only caring about how many likes they get on their statuses. If this is the world we live in, I would hate to see how much worse it will get. They fear people with mental illness. They outcast them because 'they are not normal'. I guess they would be shocked to hear about my personal grocery list, huh. You probably think I'm just a lonely kid, who everyone hates. Believe it or not I have friends. Ones who I can hold a damn conversation with in person. Not the people that just follow me, and have no link to me.  So you're probably curious about my 'grocery list'. Social Anxiety. Anorexia Nervosa. Bulimia Nervosa.  Manic-Depressive Bipolar Disorder. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. EDNOS. Not to mention I'm prone to panic attacks.  Sure sounds great to be me!! There are probably a lot more that I have yet to be diagnosed with.
Wow. This sounds like I'm having a pity party. I'm just stating the facts.

Maybe you think I belong in a nuthouse. And I would think about clocking you for saying that.
I'm not insane. I can function... Barely.. But I can none the less.

Function. Do any of us really function? We aren't machines, we're more like zombies. Droning on to finish the day. Tired, Half asleep as we wander through this hell on earth.

Maybe I'm melodramatic. Maybe I'm a lost soul. Why do we care? We all have a snow flakes chance in hell to make it out of life alive.

But you're still here. Care to explain? That sounds rude. But I'm genuinely curious. Damn, you've stayed longer than my own father! Left as soon as I was born.

Mom didn't want me, and now I wander this hell alone.