Is it really called creative writing when I'm just sitting here whining too much because I'm a loser?
I don't think so. But so i continue anyways.
I'm not what a lot of people call 'pretty.' My eyes are too big. I have a lot of zits. My hair looks like a mess, even when I do manage to brush through all of it. My teeth are yellow, I slouch a lot. I'm not skinny - I have the body of a baby whale. My thighs chafe. Lots of curves that I can't stand. It's hard to like your body when you know that all the girls around you wear a size 8 maximum while you're lucky to fit into a size 18. Also, people don't like me. My presence tends to be a burden, and people only 'tolerate' me while they 'like' other people.
My best friend though - that is what you call beauty. She's wonderfully skinny, her eyes are a gorgeous brown, her hair is long and brown but turns to a blonde at the end. Her smile welcomes you in. Everyone loves her, no matter what she does. She deserves the world. And instead, she got me.
I love acting. It's been my favorite thing for years and years - probably like 9 or 10, by now. It's been my escape. I don't really know why - it just worked out that way. I guess I liked the idea of being someone else for a time, getting to live someone else's reality. Because that meant that I didn't have to deal with the problems of my life. And when I act, I really don't. I get to zero in on this character and I get to become them. It's the best moment of my life. And when you can really get into it - you can completely forget about yourself and the real world. It is an incredible feeling.
I used to have a dream: that I would get to perform on Broadway. I remember a story from when I was younger, about eleven. They hosted this art gallery in an old, closed down high school. And there was a wall where you could grab a pen and write what your biggest wish was. And me, being so young and hopeful and optimistic, wrote that one word: "Broadway." It seems so far-fetched, now. So out of reach. Child's play. Now all I hope for is to make it through to the next day. Because if I can do that, then I can make it to the next day after that. And the cycle continues. And I can relax. Because I can take it day by day. Maybe someday I can dream as big as broadway again. Dreams sort of feel pointless, though.
Right now, it is the season of Homecoming Dance asks. Last year I didn't care at all, I didn't really have the desire to go (yet I ended up going anyways), but this year I can't shake the feeling. The feeling of sadness that no one wants to bite the bullet and take me. It really hurts. My best friend got asked last week. She asked me to help her with her response. I said yes, because I love her and want to help her, but it still didn't feel good. It's hard to see everyone around you getting asked until you're the last girl left that no one wants to take to the dance. I can't blame them, though. I wouldn't want to take me to the dance either. So maybe I shouldn't feel bad. I do a lot of stupid things but I wouldn't be dumb enough to ask me. So that's fair, I guess.
I'm going to stop dreaming for Broadway. Not that I have in a while anyways, but now it's official. If I can't get a part in a high school musical, what makes me think I'll ever have a chance on Broadway? That's for people with talent, which is a skill I lack. Completely lack. I could get jobs as backstage hands, probably. But I'll never be the 'it' girl for any show, ever. Especially not one with music in it. I'm better suited for something that doesn't show me. At all. I could be a great... who am I kidding. I couldn't be great at anything. I'll just stay in my corner. Sorry for trying to step out.
I almost fell in love once. I say almost, but that's a lie. I was in love. I don't think he was. It was a funny love Something I think meant nothing to him. But it was special to me. He asked me to Homecoming sophomore year, and we went, and we had a great time. It was incredible. I had my first kiss, a magical moment that I'll remember forever, and then it all fell apart. We dated for a little bit less than 2 months. He meant everything to me. I didn't ever want him to feel lonely. I wanted to know everything about him. He told me his backstory, from when he was young. I told him mine. I told him my deepest secrets, my biggest fears, what I worried about every day. I knew something was wrong at first when he refused to tell anyone about us. Only our closest friends, and the ones we went to Homecoming with, knew. I didn't tell my parents, he didn't tell his. Very few people knew. He'd only kiss me if we were alone, or nearly alone. Then I noticed that he wouldn't kiss me anymore. And it felt like he didn't want to hang out with me anymore. And then he texted me less and less. And I knew he didn't trust me. But I was stupid, and dumb, and ignorant, and I thought this was okay. I thought it was okay to begin to fall in love with a guy that couldn't trust me, and was obviously dating me out of pity. I thought it was okay to start to fall in love with a boy that didn't want me for who I am. I thought it was okay that he didn't strive to know why I couldn't talk to him. I thought it was okay that he didn't want to be around me all of the time, that he just needed his space. I thought it was okay that he obviously wanted to hang around my best friend more than me. I thought it was okay that when I told him I loved him, he pretended like he didn't hear me. And when he asked me if I was okay after we broke up, I told him I was fine. But I wasn't fine. He asked me how I felt when we broke up. I told him I'd noticed us growing apart and that it was probably for the better. But I didn't think it was. He asked me a year later if we could be friends again. And I told him yes. Because he hated the awkwardness between us. But what about how I felt? I didn't want to be his friend. But I was too afraid to tell him no. Because that boy... that guy that gave me that magical first kiss... the boy that I spilled my soul to... that young man who made me feel worth it... he still has a hold on me. I hide it through my aggressiveness, and being an asshole, but secretly, I'd love it if he'd talk to me that way again. But instead, now I have to listen to him talking about taking other girls on dates. And it hurts. I didn't know how much it hurt until I let my guard down. I shouldn't have let him back into my life. He hurt me, he hurt my best friend. That should have stopped me. But, then again, he never really left my life. He's still on my mind a lot, I hate to admit. But he's the first boy I ever kissed. So maybe that makes him leave an imprint on me regardless of what happened.
I find it easier to talk to my internet friends than anyone else. There's 4 of them. Kaylyn, Ally, Taylor, and Kristen. I tell them everything. We spend time laughing at dumb jokes, we have political conversations, they help me with my homework, etc. They're the best things that could have happened to me. I don't know how I got so lucky. I feel like they're always there to listen to me, and help me when I feel bad. They were there when that magical first kiss happened, and they supported me through the breakup. They support me through everything, and they don't care about the outside variables. It doesn't matter what happened, they're on my side for everything. They're the best kind of friends to have, and I've never met them in person. I know more about them than I'm sure most people do, and they know more about me. If I knew them in my day to day life, we'd all be inseparable. We're as close as close can be.
There's only one person I'd rather be around, and that's my best friend. She's incredible. She's funny, smart, beautiful, kind, all of the good qualities in a person. Her only bad quality is friend picking - if she picked me as a best friend, what does that tell you? Obviously not that great. I love her so much. I love her family. They welcomed me in as their 'third daughter.' It's the best feeling in the world knowing that when you can't be at home, there is always a place over at their house for me. Even if I got into a fight with all of them at once about different topics, they'd welcome me if I needed it. They're the best kind of people. They're the kind of people I want to grow up into. And while my best friend is guaranteed to get to grow up like that, I'm not. I have lousy genes that are probably going to turn me into a hobo.
I'm not good at anything. I can do things, I know how to do things, but I'm not particularly great at any of them. Like acting. I can act really well, it's something people point out ot me a lot, but I can't sing or dance very well, so what does that matter to me? Or school. I know how to math. I can read english. I just don't excel at any one thing. People always have their thing that they're amazing at. I don't. It just reinforces the whole go back into my corner thing, doesn't it.
I feel like I've talked about myself way too much. I should write about things people care about. But what does it matter? I probably will never show this to anyone, anyways. This is mine. This is showing my most raw thoughts. The things I fear telling other people, because they'll judge me, or hate me. Or just feel bad for me, which I can't stand. I'll just keep this one to myself. After all, nothing can be published with the name "Title in Progress," it just doesn't make sense. But who's kidding. I've never made sense.
It's been a long time since I've hated myself as much as I do right now.
It's been a long time since I've wished I'd succeeded on a suicide attempt.
It's been a long time since I've considered trying again.
And yet, here I sit, doing all three. Simultaneously.
But when I go to therapy, will I tell her that?
You bet I won't.
I deserve the cuts I want to put on my arm. And the burns that go on the back of my hand. And the nail marks I embed into my thighs.
I deserve every bad thing you have for me.
It scares me whenever I believe that sentence.
Why do I hide everything from the people that care for me most?
Because I don't want to burden them with my problems.
They shouldn't have to deal with me. I'm disgusting.
