Growing up is hard especially if you have no friends. I am bad at making friends, I am dislikable, and a barely talk. This is not good. I am sad. My parents make me wish I was different. I am confused. I am broken.
My name is Clair and I write these because one day I will grow up and I will read these and then I will tell myself it gets better. That or it will get worse and these will never be read and no one will ever know who I am or who I was. I guess I don't really want to be remembered or care if people know who I am. My opinions don't matter and my life is clearly not worth much.
My mother makes me hate myself. I understand that it's probably terrible to say that but its true. She constantly is telling me about how much I am not this or that. She's right, I will never be what she wants me to be. She makes me wish that I could be normal and have friends who aren't terrible and I love school and people everywhere. That's not true. My mother makes me wish I was dead or in Africa hauling buckets to my hut.
This story is dark. Mainly my head is dark but no one really knows about that. I think about death a lot. It doesn't really scare me. Should it though? I suppose that one day I will grow up and be alone. I'm already prepared.
Lots of people dislike me. I try not to be weird or excited or loud. I scare them off. I try to be happy. I try to be normal.
You see my mother has a religion. This religion is important to her. This scares me. I am against her religion I guess. I have a problem with who I am. At first, I thought that maybe I just liked girls. Now I think I want to be a boy or I'm a lesbian. Either way, I am screwed. I tried telling my mother about it once but she just told me that it would probably go away. It didn't.
School is bad, people there aren't nice. I have a few friends. They probably don't like me that much. I am annoying. I am mean. I lie. Actually, I lie a lot. I have a problem. I am a pathological liar. I get it from my dad. It sucks. I'm also allergic to myself. This is bad. I cannot exercise. One day I will get fat and ugly.
Music is ok. I used to write it. Then I realized how bad at writing it I was and quite. Maybe I will show you.
Sleep is tough. I fill my mind with stories, that are not real. They help me through the tough days. Sometimes it gets so bad that I let them take over. I guess it makes feel a little better.
I try not to cry too much. I'm not very good at it. I try to smile and be happy. I try to keep my stupid mouth shut. No one knows about my stories. Not Kale or Jay. How could I tell them? They would think I am crazy. Maybe I am. I think I am crazy a lot.
I think about my bus crashing or my school blowing up. Sometimes I'm the one blowing it up. Sometimes it's other people. Either way, I would close my eyes and the fires would erupt behind me. I would stay perfectly still and watch my world fall apart.
I am not broken
I am not broken
It will get better
It will be ok
You will be ok
I am not broken
I am not...
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