Me and My Thoughts on Literally Everything

hello stress my old friend

im typing the next chapter of "The Other Planet," because i hand wrote eleven pages of it. i kinda don't want to, which is why i don't usually write things like this out though, because i hate looking back and forth from paper to computer. but i really like how what i have written came out, so I'm gonna keep going with it anyway. 

I'm stressed. liiiiiiike, to the point where i don't wanna write, i just want to curl up on my bed and sleep for three and a half months. its not just the stress of writing the chapter, its stupid things, that aren't worth talking about. 

basically, i really feel alone. everyones making friends, and I'm barely able to form a sentence around anyone because of what happened in eighth grade. although lets be honest, it was bad before that, it just got worse in eighth grade. 

i wrote my way out of that terrible time, no joke, i picked up a pencil and wrote. and people would see me writing and they had their eyes on me, wondering what i was writing that was so crucial i couldnt put down that pencil. 

and i half wish i hadn't picked it up in the first place. mind you, this was before i listened to Hamilton, so i had no "oh i could be like Alexander Hamilton and write my way out of this terrible point in my life." i did it because it seemed paramount that i write, and that i write now.

i don't know, now I'm thinking if i hadn't picked up that pencil and wrote during that time, where would my path have taken me? what would i be doing now, who would i be? 

because right now, I find myself choking on the words i desperately wish i could say at school. things that would maybe get people to see I'm not—i don't even know what.

i wish i could erase myself from my own narrative. 

I'm just not having a good day today. i feel so alone, i walk the school halls and i really don't feel like i actually know anyone. Everyones chatting, texting, or so gosh darn confident that they don't need to be talking to anyone, they just walk in blissful quiet. 

i feel isolated, like there's a constant bubble around me and I'm the only one wanting to pop it.

and once i really open my eyes to that, i don't want to pop it either. still, the words seem to fall out and surround me most when I'm typing. other times, at school for example, they catch in my throat. people don't see that though.

i don't know. i don't like being asked how i am, i don't know how i would ever answer that. sometimes I'm ok, and other times, I'm alone with my thoughts. 

i genuinely did not think it would be this hard to be essentially friendless, to not trust the people I'm around at school. its a constant vicious cycle of wanting to talk like others, but not knowing exactly how. 

im stuck in my thoughts, and I am progressively starting to hate it. i dislike the fact that i don't even talk to the people I'm closest to about what I'm feeling, mostly because i don't think i really know how to do that. 

well, back to writing.