I fucking HATE when people ask me if I'm okay only when I don't acknowledge them or laugh at their SHITTY jokes.
It makes no sense.
What about on a regular day? Where I'm just quiet to be quiet?
What about then?
Someone who really cared if I was okay or not, would ask me if I'm okay out of the blue. Not only when they want some sort of emotional response from me.
That person should care whether or not if I'm okay when I don't act the same way I do every day. When I've completely drowned out the world around me. Or maybe when I look like I'm really, truly, not okay.
But no, they're only concerned when it looks like I'm about to shoot up the fucking school.
They're selfish, they don't give a shit about my well being.
It's only a companion thing. Like I'm a pet, they have me around to make them look and feel better about themselves.
No one but my mother cares. Sometimes she doesn't even bother acknowledging the presence of the evil thing hanging over my head, weighing down my shoulders. The depressive thoughts.
And to believe I sometimes call myself a bad friend. I hate myself when I miss the opportunity to ask my "friends" if they're okay.
Today is fucking shit. It's already become so bad and it's only 8:50 in the morning.
I lean my head on my hand.
A girl next to me, Emma, her name was.
She glances at me.
She's smiling and...maybe speaking to me.
But her pathetic joke passes through my ears.
She chuckles a little than her face falls when she sees that my laughter is non-existent.
"You okay Lea?"
My whole body tenses and I'm almost set into a frenzy.
I clench the pencil in my hand, trying to remain calm, trying to coax myself to continue drawing the picture I was working on.
It looked happy enough.
But guarantee, if I started drawing guns and nooses, it would turn quite a few heads.
"Sure." I answered tightly.
She tries communicating to me more.
Tries to get me to converse with her, but to no avail.
I'm not able to sleep these days.
Guiding myself into a peaceful slumber is way harder than it used to be.
And what makes me wanna cry all the time is the fact that, I don't know what keeps me awake at night.
It's not just one core feeling, or one final thought.
Its a bunch of different things that make my head spin.
My mind is confused, and needs the rest that I cannot yet find.
My body is tiring down, each day I feel myself getting weaker and more like I'm trudging on through the day.
It's truly depressing.
And I am not okay.
The stress was enough to make me worry for my health.
My period is irregular.
At the moment, my period is late by 42 Days.
A whole month, a week, and 4 days. I'm keeping track.
I wouldn't be surprised to see my hair falling out.
Last time, I was late by 3 months.
Anxious, I began chipping off the expired black nail polish from my nails.
There's something heavier than my book bag these days.
:::::::::::::::::::::
I arrived at Kenwood. Standing there.
Waiting for the bell to ring.
A guy from my art class comes up beside me.
And just as I look at him, my hope sparks a little.
Not enough to light a fire, but just enough.
Maybe he would ask me how I've been, or how I'm doing.
"Hey Leaaaa." He drags out my name.
A clear sign that he only wanted something from me.
The small smile I had falters, and my hope is diminished yet again.
Why did I expect so much from this petty human.
I might as well have a tattoo on my forehead that reads:
USE AND ABUSE.
Maybe that would define my purpose.
He smiles a big smile.
"Do you have a pen I could borrow for the day?"
For it not to get given back to me?
Nice try hoe.
"No."
His face drops into a frown and he walks away.
Use and abuse.
•::::::Next Morning:::::•
I'm snapped out of my trance by a girl I once used to talk to.
"Lea you okay?"
I look at her with a blank face.
Today is Friday, June 8th 2018. I have to remind myself of this. Or I'll completely lose track of the days.
Friday. Thank the lord.
"It's just that you've been acting a lot different lately. So I just wanted to know if you were okay."
I shrugged. Feeling the pimple on my chin.
"Yeah. I'm okay."
I wasn't okay. I've been getting these thoughts.
These, impulses.
Thinking about murder.
It's probably a phase. Me thinking about getting rid of all my problems maybe.
I found myself searching up Jeffrey Dahmer yesterday. Which didn't really scare me until now.
I found his story interesting.
Fascinating. Of course I would never kill or eat people but the way he did those things and the way he got into people's minds...absolutely fascinating.
I wanna be that good one day.
To snake my way into people's minds.
My mom calls me conniving.
And maybe I am.
Emma turns back around.
But every so often I'd catch her staring at me.
Like I was suddenly gonna pull out a gun and shoot her, BANG!
Wouldn't that be something?
Hm.
I took a sip of my Pepsi.
Bored out of my mind of these people, this school.
This bland life.
I'm gonna ask my dad to get me Sims4. Now THATS something I enjoyed.
Yeah. I'll do that.
