Troubles

I am beginning to dread 3^rd period. There are three girls in my class that torture me, and the rest are all maniacs. My week is going to be a bad week, I can already tell. It starts with the simple goodbye of Dorian leaving to Miamisburg schools, though only moving a block from his old house. I don’t know when he’ll be switching, but in the meanwhile I’m keeping him to myself. He’ll be un-grounded Friday.

I know as soon as Dorian leaves all hell will break loose, being that in my fourth period class he’s the only one I can talk to, without having awkward pauses in between every other sentence, that makes me laugh. Today I sat in my seat through twenty-five minutes in each of my classes doing absolutely nothing. I was staring at a wall for a good few minutes before I realized we had work in any to all my classes, which I now have to do for homework.

I hate this school. I hate my home. I feel like I can’t escape. Oh, how long I’ve been planning to run away. Though I just can’t bring myself to run away nor commit suicide. See now, even though the majority of the people in my life treat me like shit, I would never, under any circumstance, hurt them with an absence of my life in the palm of their hands. I could never blame them for hating myself, or hating life in general. I can only blame myself.

I have deep issues nobody can help me fix, due to the lack of support from my family and the troublesome years I’ve encountered in my past. I will always doubt myself, even when I know my work is good, and my talents that are valid and legit. I have a dark cloud of skepticism perpetually hanging over my head, and no light, whether you tell me my work is great or not, will ever be able to shine through. It’s like I’m incapable of being happy.

The only way I can be happy is when I’m miserable. I’m constantly getting in my own way and running from things that are good to me, right back into the arms of trouble. I struggle with my weight to keep eating, with my mom because I know I’ll never be good enough for her, and with my academic skills because I want to be smart, and I know I am, but again, there’s that skepticism. I write because it’s my vent. I sing because it’s the only thing I take comfort in. But I’m beginning to take a subtle discomfort in my voice and vocal abilities.

Youth. I love youth. I feel accepted, and loved, and normal for having the big ol’ brain of mine that won’t ever shut up. But still, there’s this ghost of my past nagging me to keep my mouth shut, because whenever I open my mouth anywhere else it gets me into trouble.

So, I have many problems. I’m (in a doctor’s definition – not mine) anorexic. I used to slit my ankles. I used to get beat the shit out of by my ex step-father, and get verbally abused by everyone I encounter throughout the day, whether they be my classmates or family members. I dwell on the past, and I hate that. I always look to the negative. I hate that. So, this post was my troubles, the outer-lying ones, and then the deep ones. Because I needed to vent, I needed to get it out, it was killing me.