I was thinking…

About a lot of stuff.

About how you can live and not really live, how you can be and not really be.

About how it's so easy to become an actor or actress. You can just build a mask over your self, over all that you are. Anything you don't want to show goes under the mask, and you're free to go. It's like the Phantom of the Opera: only half of you is exposed, the good side is for all to see, but the damaged, evil, not-good-enough side has to lurk in the shadows, hidden away.

I hate that. It makes me sick, watching how I live every day, how I simply exist for lack of anything else to do. I'm not some hopeless depressie whose only option is to turn to drugs. No, I'm not like that.

Oh, I have friends, did I mention that? Yes, I have plenty of happy, bubbly, vivacious, happy-go-lucky-friends.

Worthless, blubbering idiots. It takes 3 words to describe them, and the breath wasted on the 8 syllables almost isn't worth it. "Oh, did I tell you? I made cheerleading tryout today! Coach said I was one of the best he had seen!"

Sure. Great. Congratulations. Why do I care?!?!? Oh, I remember. I'm their 'friend'. I'm 'always there for me', I'm 'the best friend I have ever had'. And then they see their cheerleading buddy or their fellow Mathlete and wouldn't you know I'm just another contraption of flesh and bone, taking in valuable oxygen they should be breathing.

Well, excuse me. I don't think they realize I don't give a crap, I don't care anymore. I don't feel, I exist, I said that before. See, here I am repeating myself. sigh. Why should I bother. Who needs oxygen anyway? Ill just hold my breath and fell all that wonderful, deadly carbon monoxide filling my lungs. What a stupid way to die. If I'm going to pre-anticipate it, I'll do it right.

God, here I am talking about killing myself. I wonder if any of them cares, if anyone worries. Sure they do. My 'friends' would be 'traumatized', needing grief counselors every step of the way, too heart-broken to do any schoolwork. And then cheerleading practice or horseback riding or gymnastics or Mathlete tryouts would come, and they would run so fast their poor heads would spin. My parents would need money to find a coffin. They'd probably use my college money. Not going to go to use where I am now, they'll think. Or they would give it to my perfect sister, who is president of everything with a name at our high school. Love ya, sister dear. You make me wretch and gag, but boy don't I just love you, Leah, darling.

Don't get me started.

I wish I didn't have a name, or a way I came from, or a life I had. I wish I could just float away, swim in an everlasting pool, and never have to break the surface into the world waiting above. Or I wish the world would swallow me whole, but it doesn't seem to be too good with favors, I've tried many times.

But that's not what I'm thinking. I'm thinking what could have lead to this, to me pulling so far back, to me hiding behind such a mask of happiness and pure bliss. I didn't feel, but I felt. I didn't see, but I saw. I didn't hear, but I heard. I hid and the world stopped looking, instead it accepted the disgusting excuse of a person I gave to them. My friends? "Oh, I just love Mandy! So sweet! Always so considerate! Did I tell you about the time… hey, hellllllooooo Ryan, haven't seen you in a while!" My teachers? 'That Amanda, she's always so quiet. She works so hard, and is always so well behaved! She is a dream! Such a bright young thing, always studious. I wish I had ten mor- oh look, I have an email. Will you excuse me?" My parents? "Mandy was always special to me, I just knew it from day one. So bright, and she really looked at you, really made you think. I really lov- Leah, darling, dinner's ready! Made you your favorite!! Hurry up Amanda! Leah has a Beta meeting after dinner, she needs me to drive her, hurry up!"

Too bad my name isn't Amanda or Mandy. It says so on my birth certificate, but that's just a slip of paper with words. I call myself names no one knows, dark names, witch names. Anything to escape Mandy and her world of perfect… God I hate her. She makes me sick, too, just like Leah.

Well I'm not Leah. I refuse to be. Or Mandy, or quiet, studious Amanda. Ha! That's a good one. The teachers are too stupid to realize I am past this; I am so much smarter than what they are teaching me, I don't care what they say. But I always miss a few questions, on a worksheet test, or in class, on purpose, so they won't transfer me to a higher class. Imagine having to work on school. shudders what a waste of time!

I hate school. Not only are my 'friends' there (I'll keep calling them that for lack of a better word), but my teachers are too. Gag. They encourage us to read, write, and study. When I heard that put into a speech I nearly stopped reading and writing my dark tales for 2 months straight, but I realized I can't let those brain-less robots take that from me. I do it out of MY choice, not their influence. Morons, retards, nit-wits, all of them! Too blind to see the light in front of them, and yet dumb enough to reach up and touch it so they'll burn themselves. I wonder what made them so stupid, so gullible, so malleable. Anything you say, they'll believe, if it's on paper. Anyone how knows how to hold a pen can fool them.

But my real question is...

If I left, would any of them care?