The Days Of Kelsea's

(16) Demi - Pressure And Selfishness

(16) Demi - Pressure And Selfishness

I'm so sick of it all. All the crap that goes on, all the absolute RUBBISH I have to deal with. No one ever understands. 

Again, I wish I had a sister. Or an older brother. Definitely not a younger one - He'd be too much to deal with and you know how un-controlled I am. I just wish there was someone who knew more than me, who I could talk to. And mum and dad do NOT count in that wish. 

They didn't have to deal with this fucking mess that I'm in now, no - they didn't even come close. Profanities are sliding through my brain like a picture show of words and I'm about to use them on my parents. Back to what I said - My parents had perfect little lives as teenagers, I know it. And they stayed selfish, alright. They both did the jobs they wanted, became doctors. Like they could ever help anyone! They haven't an ounce of bloody sympathy in them... They wouldn't have even if they tried! Then to be even more selfish. They only has one child. I was isolated, almost - I didn't have a playmate when Kelsea wasn't round. Not ever. I didn't understand why all the kids in my class had brothers and sisters, especially Kelsea - I was so fucking jealous. I though mum had something wrong with her because every-single-one else that I knew had a sibling, and I didn't. That was before I learnt about how you actually get pregnant.

Why was I so numb to everything before, right after Kelsea disappeared? Why am I suddenly feeling things again?  

My parents are so disappointed in me that it's disheartening. Sickening. It's making me so tearful and I'm shaking. I've locked myself in my room after they gave the lecture about how rubbish my report was. I wish I wasn't such a coward. I just wish I could stand up to them about how I don't want to be a doctor or a lawyer or anything professional. I want to express myself through art. Live in an art college with brilliant, wacky people and learn from gifted teachers about the beautify of life, and different ways of viewing things. 

Why can't they see that?

I curl up into a ball in the corner of my room between the wall and the desk. I hide my face in my knees. I'm shutting myself down. I'm shutting myself out.

I CAN STILL HEAR THEIR VOICES AND IT'S KILLING ME.

Why did Kelsea leave me like this? Why was she so damn selfish too? I needed her. I fucking needed her. More than anything! It hurts. It hurts like heaven and hell and all things inbetween because not only is she gone, but I don't know where the bloody hell she is and I can't do anything about it.

"Reading your diary isn't going to help me!" I scream, and as I hurl the damned book across the room, the tears drip down my face and my parents are silent downstairs. I don't care if I sound like a menace, or someone that isn't mentally stable.

BECAUSE I'VE JUST FOUND OUT THAT READING THE WORDS ON THOSE PAGES WON'T HELP ME.

I'm crying. How could she have been my best friend? How could she? I read all the fucking insults in that diary! What did she want me to do?

I don't know.

I really don't.

The tears are dry. Because she isn't worth my tears. The girl who left everyone who loved her. Everyone that thought she loved us. I stare at the pieces of broken glass from the wind chime I knocked down, in my rage, when I chucked the diary across the room.

As I'm moving the glass, i see the blood. I realise that I don't give a damn! It can bleed all i want but I won't cry. I'm not the weakling here.

But tell me one thing, God, or anyone who will listen.

If Kelsea is not worth my tears, why am I picking up the diary and reading on?