August's Tears

11/24/15

I was too late.
Fuck! I was too late!...

Excuse me... I wrote that in the morning... It's currently three in the afternoon, and I've decided to carry this journal. I didn't realize yesterday was thanksgiving; honest-to-goodness I thought it was today.
This just proves how truly stupid I am. At least I barely graduated with a highschool degree, but no one ever showed up.
I stood at the entry waiting for my parents to show up.
They didn't.
I walked home with my graduation gown dirty and torn; my legs burned and I was tired of crying. My parents where asleep, and there was no leftovers left for me.
I remembered when I was little sharing a room with my older brother. My brother had gotten a job at the day of my graduation, but he spent restless nights playing his computer he built. His college declined him for some reason, I can't remember why... So he spent every night staying up at three in the morning talking to girlfriend and other friends.
He showered once a week, twice if it was summer, and lost a pound nearly everyday because he wasn't eating right. His top priority was his girlfriend who he cherished so dearly; while me? The one to slept on the other side of the room, listening to his conversations even with headphones blaring music, and everytime I hushed him he'd angrily groan and be quiet for a few moments before talking loudly. I stayed up with him on late nights because I couldn't sleep over his talking, and when there was a time where I could sleep I would wake up in the afternoon feeling exhausted. The cycle repeats. I wanted to tell my parents about it and tell them to set a bedtime, but that resulted in anxiety of driving him away.
Don't get me wrong I love my brother, but I've had it to the point where enough is enough. I want to do it for my own good and for his.
You know what I did?
I did nothing.
I wept quietly in my bed whenever he was distracted long enough for me to let a weak cry at night, and then just go do sleep.
I wanted to be a artist when I was a kid.
I poured my heart and soul or every drawing I did. Even when it was utter trash I wanted to feel proud, and even got enough courage to show my brother.
He's sigh disappointedly. That sigh always tormented me to the point where I no longer wanted to be an artist.
I gave up because he wasn't proud of me. I was in a dark time, so it was easy for me to give up and just do something else.
My entire family use to make me feel like I was better if I never existed. I was never really interesting I will admit. I was that average, ugly, and overweight girl who had a small group of friends that accepted her... But I never knew them personally, but I will listen and give the best advice I could give.
I was never in a relationship until I was in my twenties, but I'll tell that later.
I was depressed.
Still am depressed.
Nothing changes with age. Long story short.
It's just that your family will forget you and be happy that you're finally gone,
Friend will abandon you at your darkest hour despite being there for them when you were at their darkest hour.
You're all alone.
You're always be alone.
And no one will remember you...

I'm going to bed now, and hope I am able to get out soon.
maybe later.
Maybe never.
Who knows?

Signing off,
Bonnie Gray.