I wish I was someone different. I wish I never met anyone I know because I know if I didn't, their life would be much better. They wouldn't have a burden on their shoulders. They wouldn't be so annoyed. I am annoying, but I would like you to know that I do it because I want people to smile, even though I sometimes forget that no one smiles forever. I try. But each time I think I smile, the inside hurts. It hurts because I know that I am lying to the people I care for.
I really try to contain my emotions, but they are hectic. I try as much as I can to be level-headed, but sometimes need to leave and lock myself somewhere for no-one to notice what I do. Who'd notice anyway?
I lock myself away from many things. Mostly other people. I feel envious. Envious because I wish I was like them. Like my friends; three are amazing singers (L, E, J), five are amazing dancers (E, E, L, J, C), all of them are beautiful, all of them are smart, all of them are perfect. I want to be like them. This is why I hate going on the internet most of the time. I hear of different celebrities and turn off into my own world. I am envious because even though I know everyone had at least one problem, or will face a problem, they have people to fall back on, people who love them whereas who will look up to a bitch like me. Someone who is useless, ugly, lazy, rude, fat, forgetful, clumsy, hopeless and numb.
I'm numb since I remember. I don't know what is dream or reality. I sometimes black out for a couple of seconds before realising I have no clue where I am and wait until it comes back to me; I am in a room full of people who think I'm a joke. A walking pile of contained thoughts and something what was meant to die from the moment I was in the fucking womb.
You see, I needed to take a break from the first chapter because I was in Poland. I saw my mom. I was encouraged to tell her about me and my feeling. The second time. I wanted someone to listen to me, to hug me. To love me. She laughed the first time and said it's nothing and it will pass by the second. She made me promise that we'll talk each week, however, the week following my landing at home, she said she went through much worse things (break us and children, which she later explained as me) and she still hasn't hung herself.
Mom, I don't give a shit anymore. You have hit me, insulted me and my sister and never game me the support I needed. I searched help from the internet to help me in things a mother should. The only thing you 'taught me' was how to sit 'like a fucking lady'.
This may be my last goodbye. Thank you.
YOU ARE READING
Hope Isn't Enough.
Nonfiksi'first off, this is basically my diary. my fucked up life in a internet book where you can't say anything in case you offend some people. so on that note, if you can't handle notes of suicide, bad language or anything in those categories, leave. lea...
