My birthday was two days ago. And just like every other day, I was invisible. Only two people who weren't family told me happy birthday. And they don't even go to my school. Well, I guess that's not true. Plenty of people told me happy birthday–after I told them it was, indeed, my birthday. It wasn't the same.
I don't want to do anything but think. So why am I writing them down?
My back hurts. My mind is tired, and so are my eyes. There is nothing to do. Thinking eventually starts to happen. And that is how this started.
I almost cried last night. My parents were putting me into this NJHS thing and looking at my grades. After about five minutes of looking at them, they came to this conclusion: I am a fuckup. Pretty much said it to my face. Then I went to my room to find peace in sleep, when they took away my music. So then I was up for another three hours just thinking. This morning they woke me up early so I would take a fucking shower. And then? And then they acted as if last night didn't happen. As though I couldn't possible care about what my own parents call me. I give up.
And there I go, sinking lower into the darkness called sadness in a sea known as depression. At this rate, I'll never hit the surface. All I know is that I have to get out of here. Maybe not now, and probably not forever, but someday I'm going to escape this place and go find somewhere that no one knows me. I don't want to be identified. Because then I'm stuck in a mold that I don't want to have; forever.
YOU ARE READING
From Thoughts to Paper
Short StoryPretty much my diary from the beginning of the school year. May be relatable. You'll have to read to know that... Disclaimer: Don't read if you like happy! Because barely any of it is
