3rd hour
Last night I was working out, and I was suddenly struck by the futility of everything I do. I am terrible. My dream has always been to have a good physique, but I will never have that, no matter how hard I try, because I simply cannot advance. You people have seen what I look like. Hell, the other day at the health food store, the gay guy I asked for advice on what to buy said "Well *hand gesture*, you don't work out, so I'd go with the...". Do you realize the hopelessness of knowing it is physically impossible to raise above mediocre? Do you have any idea what that feels like, to be completely devoid of control, and to know that in a best case scenario you will be "not fat"?
Yesterday I was at Lindsay's house, and she and her friend were giggling hysterically about how much I look like Cameron from Ferris Bueller's Day Off. And you know what? That pretty much sums up who I am. I'm Cameron. I'm the wacky sidekick in everyone's life. I'm Boyd, that outrageous charicature who dances on command. I get treated by absolute shit by all but my best friends, and even THEY don't fucking respect me because I'm goddamned Kimmy from Full House. No one respects me, no one treats me seriously, and worst of all, no one views me as a human being.
And why not? Look at me. I have no sense of shame. I'm small and ugly. I stutter when I talk. I'm completely devoid of common sense. I'm just this gibbering, emotionally unstable, whiny little pussy. I mean, what am I doing right now but bitching in my livejournal about how hard life is?
I was furious last night. I knew the full, hopeless reality of my situation. And you can think all you want about how it's all about my inability to gain muscle, but it runs a lot deeper than that. A good body has always been my dream. Losing a dream is one of the most painful things that can happen to a person. And THAT'S just a microcosm of my greater dream of being respected, for a good body can often command some level of respect. Skinny people with fat stomachs get very little respect unless they're exceptional people, which I hardly am.
And you know what? This morning, I looked at myself, and I realized that this is who I am. This is what I am. This is how I will always be, and that can only change for the worse. I am not in control. I was depressed, and it only got worse as the day dragged on. Second hour world lit. I'm always happy in that class. Everyone there is so nice. But what they didn't realize (although they did ask several times if I was okay) was that I was on the verge of exploding. I was trying my hardest to appear stoic. I folded my arms and just looked straight ahead the entire hour, even though I could feel tears forming in the corner of my eyes. And then I began thinking. This must all be about attention. You must want a lot of attention, Aaron, to put on this show for everybody. You're not miserable. And if you are, you sure have a shitty reason to be. Oh, you're not good looking? No one respects you? Boo fucking hoo, join the club, pal. That's no reason to cry, unless you really want everyone to notice.
I felt like I was going to snap. My fists were in tight little balls. I wanted to hit someone, something, run to the bathroom and begin sobbing like a little girl, and for what? Attention. I knew it. I just want attention. That's what I kept saying to myself. I told myself to smile because I sure as hell didn't have any reason to be upset. I couldn't, but I knew that was just a self-reinforcing delusion. Then I began wondering if I really was depressed, or if this was some giant delusion. I began feeling nauseous, but one thing remained certain: I wanted to scream. I knew I was going to snap, somehow.
Do normal people snap? Do sane, healthy, emotionally stable have desires like that? I feel ashamed for my friends, to have to know such a fucking nutcase as myself. Just the act of writing this makes me feel sorry for all my friends to be associated with me.
I'm not normal. Today I realized that. Not normal in the sense that springs to everyone's mind immediately when they think of me, but genuinely emotionally unsound. My train of thought, my emotional responses to things, and the way I perceive life--it's neither normal nor healthy. And don't lie to yourself, kiddos: it ain't a good thing.
Of course, maybe this is all just a giant ploy for attention. Maybe I'm just being a melodramatic teen wailing about my miserable and dramatic and tragic definition of "fucking whiner". I honestly don't know. But I'm sorry to all my friends for having to know me, and you're fully justified in feeling creeped out. I'm sorry to everyone I lash out at, and as I come closer and closer to snapping, I will lash out more and more.
No one's gonna read this shit anyway.
Yesterday I was at Lindsay's house, and she and her friend were giggling hysterically about how much I look like Cameron from Ferris Bueller's Day Off. And you know what? That pretty much sums up who I am. I'm Cameron. I'm the wacky sidekick in everyone's life. I'm Boyd, that outrageous charicature who dances on command. I get treated by absolute shit by all but my best friends, and even THEY don't fucking respect me because I'm goddamned Kimmy from Full House. No one respects me, no one treats me seriously, and worst of all, no one views me as a human being.
And why not? Look at me. I have no sense of shame. I'm small and ugly. I stutter when I talk. I'm completely devoid of common sense. I'm just this gibbering, emotionally unstable, whiny little pussy. I mean, what am I doing right now but bitching in my livejournal about how hard life is?
I was furious last night. I knew the full, hopeless reality of my situation. And you can think all you want about how it's all about my inability to gain muscle, but it runs a lot deeper than that. A good body has always been my dream. Losing a dream is one of the most painful things that can happen to a person. And THAT'S just a microcosm of my greater dream of being respected, for a good body can often command some level of respect. Skinny people with fat stomachs get very little respect unless they're exceptional people, which I hardly am.
And you know what? This morning, I looked at myself, and I realized that this is who I am. This is what I am. This is how I will always be, and that can only change for the worse. I am not in control. I was depressed, and it only got worse as the day dragged on. Second hour world lit. I'm always happy in that class. Everyone there is so nice. But what they didn't realize (although they did ask several times if I was okay) was that I was on the verge of exploding. I was trying my hardest to appear stoic. I folded my arms and just looked straight ahead the entire hour, even though I could feel tears forming in the corner of my eyes. And then I began thinking. This must all be about attention. You must want a lot of attention, Aaron, to put on this show for everybody. You're not miserable. And if you are, you sure have a shitty reason to be. Oh, you're not good looking? No one respects you? Boo fucking hoo, join the club, pal. That's no reason to cry, unless you really want everyone to notice.
I felt like I was going to snap. My fists were in tight little balls. I wanted to hit someone, something, run to the bathroom and begin sobbing like a little girl, and for what? Attention. I knew it. I just want attention. That's what I kept saying to myself. I told myself to smile because I sure as hell didn't have any reason to be upset. I couldn't, but I knew that was just a self-reinforcing delusion. Then I began wondering if I really was depressed, or if this was some giant delusion. I began feeling nauseous, but one thing remained certain: I wanted to scream. I knew I was going to snap, somehow.
Do normal people snap? Do sane, healthy, emotionally stable have desires like that? I feel ashamed for my friends, to have to know such a fucking nutcase as myself. Just the act of writing this makes me feel sorry for all my friends to be associated with me.
I'm not normal. Today I realized that. Not normal in the sense that springs to everyone's mind immediately when they think of me, but genuinely emotionally unsound. My train of thought, my emotional responses to things, and the way I perceive life--it's neither normal nor healthy. And don't lie to yourself, kiddos: it ain't a good thing.
Of course, maybe this is all just a giant ploy for attention. Maybe I'm just being a melodramatic teen wailing about my miserable and dramatic and tragic definition of "fucking whiner". I honestly don't know. But I'm sorry to all my friends for having to know me, and you're fully justified in feeling creeped out. I'm sorry to everyone I lash out at, and as I come closer and closer to snapping, I will lash out more and more.
No one's gonna read this shit anyway.