Our passions are ourselves.
Anatole France (1844-1922)
The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard; 1881
Dear Ashley,
I am in a writing kind of mood tonight, I don't really know why. I have a raging headache and a lot of mixed emotions currently. I am sad. I have realized that I am a bad person, I say that you're my only real sister when in fact you are my half sister just like Gavin and Leigh are my half brother and sister. I really am an only child. I am all alone, I have always been alone.
I miss Brooke, like a lot. We are growing farther and farther apart and it is killing me. Rain has this boyfriend so I next to never get to talk or see her and when we do talk it is always about him. Andrew, that's his name. I don't like him, and it is not because he as Rain says "steals her away from me". I am not that low and shallow of a person. Andrew is not a good person, I can just tell. He is rude, obnoxious, annoying, disrespectful and Rain never and I do mean never, shuts up about him. It's always "Andrew this, Andrew that". We can never have a conversation that isn't about him. "I miss him," she whines when it's literally been three hours since she last saw him.
Bailey says all these guys like me, I don't believe her. Rain points out flaws in every guy I even look at but then doesn't shut up about her boyfriend. I'm just over here minding my own business like Rejected! Rejected! Yeah you just got rejected RE-JE-CT-ED REJECTED!
I'm mad. At the world, at myself, at bullies, at people, teachers, students, everyone in general. You all suck! Go suck a cock! DAMN! Make a difference in the world instead of ruining it.
I just want to cry. I know that I am an easy target. You can say a lot of shit about me, true or not, and everyone would believe it. But come on, for one day blindfold your mind and think the thoughts that I do, I promise you wouldn't survive, I don't know how I do. Try it, for one night let alone one hour. You would think I am crazy, you'd lock me up, then you'd talk more shit about me.
You know, sometimes I wish that I was locked up in a hospital away from all outside life. After a while, I might end up sane. I wouldn't be so stressed out, I'd be judged but I wouldn't mind. Meals everyday, showers, games, visitors, sounds pretty good to me.
I might be crazy, or mental, who knows. But no one gives a fuck so why should I? People act like they care when I know otherwise. I worry about myself sometimes. Well, actually all the time. It's a well known fact that I think too much. What isn't well known are my thoughts and how dark and scary they almost always are. Honestly, sometimes they're just downright sickening. They're violent and always end in a bad or sad way. Always with me getting hurt, killed, or broken hearted. You know, the usual everyday life stuff. It sucks, but that's my life.
I talk to myself a lot, I mean that's kind of what you're doing when you're writing. Really though, I just want to cry.
10.14.13
....Jesse
YOU ARE READING
all the things I never got to tell you.
Non-Fiction"I like that I can read this in a child like voice for the beginning and that it's descriptive yet secretive." "I have so many things to say, but I'll start with, this was amazing. You seriously depicted every emotional turn with such great detail a...
