some of you might have read the above book. It IS actually a published novel.
anyway.
I talk to myself, a lot. Maybe it's cuz no one else really listens to anyone's interests but theirs anymore -hahaha, we all know that, right?
RIGHT.
I'm not alone, am I?
so I talk to myself. some people do it in their heads, some in diaries, some sing, some express emotions through writing (like one might on wattpad), and some speak it out loud. I do the latter. it feels so much more releasing that way, to be able to rant and rave and feel as though someone is actually listening and feeling sympathetic.
one time, I just stood be myself in the rain and was looking at the sky and asking if the was a God up there.
I was dead tired that night.
now, I just walk around, doing what I do, whispering to myself about the horrors of this world.
I feel optimistic. [NOTE THE SARCASM].
I've tricked myself into thinking that people hear me before. reality hit me like a ton of bricks that time. some bitch decided to convince her boyfriend (or rather, fuck buddy) to stuff me in a locker.
I am reasonably tall, and I am not as skinny as that bitch.
lockers are fucking tiny. and cold. and smelly. I stayed in there for two hours. fruit flies settling in my hair, getting in my nose. I was staring at the words "LETS MAYK GINJER BABBYS" the entire time.
dammit, the slut didn't even spell "let's" right!!
anyway, the entire time, I was ranting to myself. I realized that people really don't see me the way I 'asked' them to. they really couldn't hear me.
I yelled for that entire two hours. I fucking screamed. but no one came to help until I started crying.
I. AM. DELUSIONAL.
fuck this shit...
ScLoLi
