Book of Vents

Different

I hate myself. Ever since I truly started seeing who I was, who I am.

I used to believe that I was amazing and awesome and badass and everything was fine.

Well... that all changed with one doctors visit. When at 11 years old... I became an adult. I mean... I HAD to. Or it could mean my death.

No one wants to die. Not even me. I wanted, and I still do want, to pursue my dream of being a YouTuber.

But... that day I got the news... it changed how I saw things...

"Mom... I don't feel happy anymore..."

"Oh honey, don't be stupid! You're fine! It's just stress!"
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"I don't feel like it anymore..."

"Come on honey! Stop being such a lazy ass!"
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Heh... my mom always believed it was other things... blaming it on stress, blaming it on me even... hahaha, boy was she so fucking wrong!

I wish I was someone else now... I wish I was someone cool, that was actually badass. Some tell me that I'm badass because of my battle with my disease... fucking idiots, just because I take shots multiple times a day to stay alive, that doesn't make me badass.

To me... badass can be standing up for what's right and what you believe in, to concurring a major fear, to being able to fight in hand-to-hand combat.

I've created scars... many, many scars...

Face. Forearm on the right. Shoulder on the right. Forearm on the left. Above the eye.

Because I felt badass with them. I would make up stories as to how they got there... what I decided to do was stupid. Now they are a reminder to how weak I am. To how stupid I am.

Why can't I be different..? Why can't I just be badass... why me... why was I cursed with this disease...

Just why...

Being different... too many times I've looked in the mirror and cried. When I wished that I had a different life. A different home. A different family.
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So many goddamn fucking mistakes... and I can't fix them... guess now I'll just live with them... and the scars they left and the scars that they made me create...

IF ONLY... IF ONLY IT WERE DIFFERENT...