....inner thunderstorms....
I decided to do a Useless Depressive Rant because I feel pretty damn shitty right now:
"Why am I trying to give if no one gives me a try?
Why am I trying to see when there is nothing in sight?
Why am I dying to live, if I'm just living to die?..."
--Tupac
Today was completely fuck. I'm serious. We had a class meeting about Prom, which set me off on the wrong foot. It depresses me. I mean I know people say "go, you'll have fun" but I don't think so. I'm terrified of it. Show up and get humiliated. Don't show up and it's the real thing--that you don't fit in and that nobody gives a fuck about you, and you know it. So the class officials (ha ha) were going on and on about how much fun we have there but then I just couldn't take it. I had to leave, I had to go--I had to get up right then and do it. I managed to wait a minute then run into the art-wing bathroom, where I promptly took my new razorblade and wreaked bloody havoc on my legs. I stained my favorite socks and my pants, too. The cuts are very deep-not long, but very deep, and they took about 15 minutes to clot. Self-induced hemorrhaging. Came late to Rousseau's.
And the fucking cherry on top is this: people offer to find me a date to make me go, but that makes it worse--translation: you're incapable of finding your own boyfriend. You are a fuck up. I have often wondered about going to prom and offing myself, and that is why I am not going. I am not being a dork, I am just trying to stop the inevitable--what may come, what will come. I'm trying to save my own life.
What's so wrong with me? Just please--what's wrong. The nerdiest guys in school have prom dates, but not me. I am not letting someone force a smelly nerd on me just to make me go and humiliate myself. Just tell me what people think about me that's so bad. What is so wrong with me?!
So I'm not going. I was planning to go and fuck it up for you, but why make all you happy, ditzy people sad? You think that it makes you real to say that you're the girl with the broken smile, but what about the girl who doesn't smile at all--the girl who sleeps with a razor under her pillow, knowing she could end it all in an instant but chooses to suffer on in hopes the next day might be brighter, and knowing it won't be? She is the one with courage--the courage to not do it. Dave (fucking dick) believes that suicide is the coward's way out, as exhibited in English today. Holy fuck, I never thought I'd actually relate to Death of a Salesman. Suicide is not a cowardly thing. I ask you, could you do it? You've got to be brave to off yourself, and you've got to be brave to not off yourself.
I'm not saying I'm going to kill myself. I won't yet. I'll just suffer on and hope that maybe you can have a little fun at my expense. I know I'm screwed up. I know I'm behind. But what is it that makes me feel so substandard? Am I really that much of a fuck, that people won't even ask me out?
I'm a fuck up. I don't care. I'm suffering on, just trying to go day by day. I am a Real Live Person, with Real Feelings. And you are all just pieces of plastic.
"Why am I trying to give if no one gives me a try?
Why am I trying to see when there is nothing in sight?
Why am I dying to live, if I'm just living to die?..."
--Tupac
Today was completely fuck. I'm serious. We had a class meeting about Prom, which set me off on the wrong foot. It depresses me. I mean I know people say "go, you'll have fun" but I don't think so. I'm terrified of it. Show up and get humiliated. Don't show up and it's the real thing--that you don't fit in and that nobody gives a fuck about you, and you know it. So the class officials (ha ha) were going on and on about how much fun we have there but then I just couldn't take it. I had to leave, I had to go--I had to get up right then and do it. I managed to wait a minute then run into the art-wing bathroom, where I promptly took my new razorblade and wreaked bloody havoc on my legs. I stained my favorite socks and my pants, too. The cuts are very deep-not long, but very deep, and they took about 15 minutes to clot. Self-induced hemorrhaging. Came late to Rousseau's.
And the fucking cherry on top is this: people offer to find me a date to make me go, but that makes it worse--translation: you're incapable of finding your own boyfriend. You are a fuck up. I have often wondered about going to prom and offing myself, and that is why I am not going. I am not being a dork, I am just trying to stop the inevitable--what may come, what will come. I'm trying to save my own life.
What's so wrong with me? Just please--what's wrong. The nerdiest guys in school have prom dates, but not me. I am not letting someone force a smelly nerd on me just to make me go and humiliate myself. Just tell me what people think about me that's so bad. What is so wrong with me?!
So I'm not going. I was planning to go and fuck it up for you, but why make all you happy, ditzy people sad? You think that it makes you real to say that you're the girl with the broken smile, but what about the girl who doesn't smile at all--the girl who sleeps with a razor under her pillow, knowing she could end it all in an instant but chooses to suffer on in hopes the next day might be brighter, and knowing it won't be? She is the one with courage--the courage to not do it. Dave (fucking dick) believes that suicide is the coward's way out, as exhibited in English today. Holy fuck, I never thought I'd actually relate to Death of a Salesman. Suicide is not a cowardly thing. I ask you, could you do it? You've got to be brave to off yourself, and you've got to be brave to not off yourself.
I'm not saying I'm going to kill myself. I won't yet. I'll just suffer on and hope that maybe you can have a little fun at my expense. I know I'm screwed up. I know I'm behind. But what is it that makes me feel so substandard? Am I really that much of a fuck, that people won't even ask me out?
I'm a fuck up. I don't care. I'm suffering on, just trying to go day by day. I am a Real Live Person, with Real Feelings. And you are all just pieces of plastic.