recovery, ch.1
The first step in recovering is admitting.
In kindergarten, things that made me happy included painting on the tables, making newspaper hats, and leaving Lucky Charms cereal for the leprechauns on St. Patrick’s Day. In kindergarten, school was fun.
It’s been 10 years since kindergarten and those same things would make me happy, but I’ve grown up since then and I don’t do those things anymore. (I really should!) I am not a pessimistic person; in fact-many little things make me happy! I’m usually a “well, there’s always next time to get it right” kind of person, or a “at least there’s the weekend to look forward to” person, or a “I should stop feeling bad about myself and move on to better things because things can’t stay this way forever!” person…you get the picture. But since the 8th grade, suddenly things began to fall apart. I’m on the third year since then, and it hasn’t gotten better, it’s just absolutely worse. Or maybe I just realized the truth finally:
I like people, but nobody likes me.
I’m not trying to sound like an “emo kid” or “oh boo-hoo, my life is tragic and nobody gets me!” because my life isn’t tragically doomed when I’m only 16 and therefore have some time to improve and lead a kick arse lifestyle. I’m just going to admit that most of the people I care about (on a persona level) don’t give a shite about me, but I was in denial for almost all of my life because I wanted to believe that people liked me and wanted to be friends with me as much as I wanted to be friends with them.
Well that’s no fun.