Does it help me?

Wednesday, February 2, 2011, 9:26 AM

There's a certain point in life, where there's a thick, dark, line in between who you want to be, and who you are.

Today, I'm staring straight at it.

I can't look at myself.

Because who is that?

Who is this person?

Introduce me please, and let me spend more time with her.

Actually, just tell me. Because I know I've spent enough time with her. Yet, I don't know anything.

Because I can't fix her.


It's not another one of those stories, where the teenage girl gets pregnant. No.
It's not another one of those dramas, where the child is gay and the parents are saints.
It's not another one of those tales, where the princess is beautiful, and her parents are wretches.

I'm the kid who didn't take the drugs that night. I'm the kid who fucked everything up, on my own, with my own hands.

So I'm sorry.

I apologize to myself, because I'm a big, fat, disappointment. All my life. That's what it comes down to.

All of it.

All sixteen years. Down the drain. Because at this point, no one is looking at me. Not my dad. Not my friends. Not the teachers I'm supposed to remember for the rest of my life.

Fuck that.
My mom doesn't even know what to do with me.

I wish I had been the kid who took drugs. Who got pregnant. Who was gay.

I look at them and think they've got the life. Because at least they've found a meaning in their lives.

"Even though there's nothing wrong, it still feels like there's always something wrong."
"So, you've been told no all your life, so you just don't try anymore."

We're all fuck-ups. They just try to make us feel like we're good fuck-ups.


I'm tired. Tired of being who I am. Tired of living. Tired of being this fat disappointment. Who am I kidding?

As soon as I walked into that school, I kept thinking, over and over again:
Somebody shoot me.
Stab me in the heart and shoot me.
Slam a bat across my head.
Smash my head into the glass door.

I wish I had taken those pills.