The Writers Voice
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Life, Death, And Something In Between.
I'm so glad to have a friend like you to understand what I'm going through. You
see, I go to school, talk a little, work a little, eat very little. . .it seems
kind of boring after a while. . .like 2 days. But it's life and what can you do
but end it? But lets not go there right now. 'Let people think what they want to
think' is my motto. . .or at least the motto I wish I could have. I'm constantly
wondering what people are thinking of me. Are the people in the back of the room
laughing at me or the guy picking his nose in front of me? Is it ok for me not to
have a boyfriend right now while everyone else it sticking their tongues down
each others throats? Do guys think I look ok? Do people think I'm weird because
I like to read a lot? Do people feel sorry for me when I tell them I don't have my
own room at home? Are my friends talking about me behind my back? Am I smart
enough to be in this science class where everyone seems to know what all the
symbols on the board mean and what the the teacher is talking about?
I hate walking around thinking about how I should act, how others expect me to
act, and the way I really do act. I spend over an hour of my time in the morning
getting dressed and doing my make up only to end up feeling worse about myself
because I'm probably the only one who does it. I wish I was more like this girl
I know, Tibby. She doesn't care what people think about her. I wish I could truly
say once at least "Say what you want about me it doesn't make a difference to how
I hate that when people walk right by you and give you that look that says "what
are you doing here?" I've gotten that look a lot lately. I hate the fact that
I've been in the same class with the same people everyday for 5 months and they
still don't know my name. I hate how everybody knows what they're doing with
their life and I haven't got a clue.
Everyday I wake up, I get ready, get depressed, go to school fake a smile so
people don't talk bad about me even more than they do already. I go home, take
off the fakeness of my make up along with the smile. I sit down think about my
day and wonder why I go through with it anymore. I hate that I worry my mom by
listening to the music I listen to. By acting the way I do. By lying the way i
do. . .by crying. . .and her thinking it's her fault.
I hate the way i wander through life without a goal. . .without a purpose unlike
everyone else. I hate how I don't feel like I'm really living. . .and I'm
definitely not dead. . . yet. . . I feel like in between. . . and that makes me
It's no ones fault really. I like to think I was born this way. . .that I was
made to be sad and depressed to keep a balance in this world. I just don't see
why I have to be one of the sad ones. . .
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