Monsters

My life was like trying to make a square fit into a circle. I bullied at school, and my parents didn't know it. I felt most comfortable when I was alone. I needed the darkness of my room, the covers over my head, and the depressing music blasting in my ears.
Food, I'd say, was my biggest comfort. If I was depressed, I'd eat my feelings. If I was happy, I'd eat what I like the most. I would eat when I felt angry, disappointed, rejected, and ugly. Sometimes, I would eat until I got uncomfortable only because I craved it, but I did totally regret it afterwards. At least food would never turn its back on me, like people did, I thought.
I lay in my bed, running my fingers through my long black hair then realize that I have yet to change into my pajamas. I wore my favorite pair of skinny jeans, and t-shirt.
I couldn't help, but think about school the next day. It was late, and my body refused to relax. Insomnia threatened me with heavy thoughts, and strange questions, only complicated people would think about. I envy people who sleep so easily, I think. I get up, grab my jacket, and go to my nightstand. I pull out a white, and red box, and put it in my jacket pocket. I take the cigarette into my hand, and place it in my mouth. My mind felt so foggy. I really WANT a cigarette, I thought.
The light softly peaked through the curtains from the window. I go to the window, and try to open it; completely forgetting that I broke the latch into place last time I almost got caught smoking in my room. It wasn't going to open. I grunt, grabbing my lighter from back pocket.