Because my old blog is now deemed unusuable due to the fact that I don't like people reading my personal thoughts, I've created a new one. Not that anyone reads it anyway.
Voice: You should stop being so bitter.
I know.
I feel so cliched thinking this, but I seriously don't think anyone understands me. Just typing that makes me feel so utterly pathetic...but that's how I feel. Maybe I'm just pathetic. I should be realistic: how would anyone know who I am when I don't know who I am? What if they all have me figured out and it's me who's purposely changing myself just so I don't have to conform?
I hate conformists. And I am one.
Mother-dear, you really needs some meds. (You shouldn't be the one talking. You need meds) After math you picked me up and everything seemed fine. Then, a seemingly nonchalent phone call with my aunt later, you're spazzing. And crying. And driving like an antidepressants-jacked woman.
What's wrong?
I'm so stressful. I'm frustrated. I've worked myself to death. There's no point in life, living.
Question marks hung over the air. Quoi?
You're useless. You're no help. You don't even have the grades to make up for it.
Voice: Face it, you're a deadbeat. You are a bother. You have managed to fail living.
What didn't I fail? It's a rhetorical question.
I'm dropped off at the library, where both the librarian (who I had a former tiff with) and you are making it obvious they think I'm some kind of retard. Who knows, maybe I am.
I'll pick you up in an hour. Why? I want to be alone. I want to be away from the bastard that ruined my life.
What time will you come? 1:30, sharp, okay? I don't want you to kill yourself.
The disgust on your face is so obvious. Please, just reassure me. You leave.