Tears roll down, wetting my cheeks again.

I don't know why he makes me so overwhelmed. Since my preteens, he has always made me feel this way. Just his presence is enough to make my chest feel tighter and smaller. Maybe because of that incident. Where is it? Just where is it?!

I quickly open my almirah and take out my yellow cutter. The only friend who always relieved me. The one I could always count on, rely on.

As I see the bright red fluid gush out of my skin along with a little but sharp pain, I feel relieved. It feels as if all my emotions that feel too vague, forced, or faked just got validated. They weren't fake, they were and are real! See! It's taking a physical form now! 

But one scratch won't do, I need more. My pain is real, isn't it? I know it's pathetic of me to take such actions, but the truth is that… I was born pathetic. I should've realised that sooner. I don’t know how long I'm gonna bother my parents by existing. I wish I had died before becoming an embryo. I wish I weren't the rainbow child. If only the first one survived. But maybe I was born so that it didn't have to suffer. But would it have suffered? It would have been better than me for sure. In studies, behaviour, conduct, looks, personality, physique, cocurricular, helping, speaking, buying, running errands, joking, feeling, thinking, living, existing, everything. I just failed my parents, my sister, and my friends. Why can't I be better? Why do I always make stupid mistakes? Why am I so dumb?

Another cut makes these thoughts feel real, not forced or fake. I quickly take out a piece of paper, but a bigger and thicker painting sheet decides to follow it.

"Maybe collecting many on one piece would make it all more real."

I quickly drew a heart, a big heart and then wiped off my blood on it; I made sure that it wiped off within the heart's boundaries.

Now that it's all done, I feel at ease. I quickly hide that paper in a spare notebook and push the notebook between of my academic books.

I say, "Good, it shouldn't catch anyone's attention. Not that it's any different from my other notebooks, but still," in my still rough voice from crying.

I feel so much better now. You know, I wasn't the type to behave this way, but I guess time made me a bigger fool. Each passing day makes me feel more foolish. I know I am, but to think I would keep on feeling more and more of a fool, just how much more stupid can I become? 

Doesn't everything have its own limits? So I don't understand why this feeling doesn't seem to have any limit. Ugh! I hate myself, but I love myself, too! I don't want to die, but I am tired of surviving. I miss those times, when I knew how I really felt; precisely, I miss how I felt real and crystal clear emotions. I just don't know why I act this way. Everyone wants to feel special, but in my way? Hah, the most repulsive one! 

No wonder no one can like me for long, not when they see my reality… but I wish there was someone who would have accepted me the way I was, my real personality. Ah! There I go again, wishing for impossible things. Who would like someone who's not even sure of their own emotions and keeps faking things? I myself don't like pick-me kinda people.

Also, who would like a friend who keeps making toxic remarks on your progress and keeps on hitting and shouting? How would that be any different from strict parents? We make friends because we want people who understand us. If one makes such friends, then they are gonna end up in depression or anxiety. I am such a toxic friend.

I remember how I made Shelly feel embarrassed when she got conjunctivitis. I had stopped her from touching my lunch box, though she had been using her handkerchief and not her hands to wipe or touch her eyes. Oh god, just how stupid am I? Just how many times have I upset her? Just what sort of friend am I? Maybe that's why I had a fallout with my cousin bestie, Ashley. I am sorry, everyone.

"I am sorry for not being the perfect best friend, friend, sister, daughter, cousin, I… am sorry," I whisper as tears start rushing out of my eyes as if they don't like to stay with me but rather prefer to evaporate into the atmosphere.

But is it even worth it? They can't even hear me. I guess I am gonna be a coward forever, a loser.

I slap myself for wasting so much of my time, even after my father's remark. I rapidly wipe off my tears and look into the small circular mirror on my switchboard. My eyes and nose betray me and reveal that I have been crying. "Crying is for the weak and dumb" is what I have always told myself, and yet, I can't do as I want to. So pathetic!

 I put my ear to the door to know if my father's outside or if it's safe for me to venture out of my room.

I mumble to myself, "I hear no sound, so I must rush into the washroom fast."

I quickly wash my face and come back into my room. Take out my chemistry book and start making notes on the chapter Hydrogen Chloride. Father was busy watching some series, and thank god, his room's door was shut.