I don’t know

I don’t know.

I’m so confused. Everything is up and down

I betray people, without noticing, leaving behind people who love me. The new people seem nice. I wait for them to betray me.

They can’t love me, not really.

I speak to them and smile.

And I cringe at every little thing about me that I know will make them hate me.

I can’t think and I just want to cry.

I do cry, sometimes, before I go to sleep.

I feel useless and worthless and it makes my head hurt.

I wonder how everyone else does it, or if its just me.

I get mad when people aren’t like me, when they expect something else of me.

I feel a little proud about being different, but I hate how different I am.

I want to be like them. I want to have them – friends, lovers, family.

For real, the ones everyone else seems to have.

I’m greedy.

I want more.

And I’m so jealous. I look at the perfect people and it feels like something in me is breaking, bit by bit.

Why do they get to have all of those things that I can’t?

I am pathetic.

I hate myself most of the time.

I joke about it, but I don’t know if anyone actually guesses that I’m not joking.

Sometimes, I see something about me that makes me smile but I remind myself that its wrong.

I know I’m just settling, getting used to it, making myself a little bit more at home inside the stupid person that I am.

So the good feeling doesn’t mean much, really.

People want things of me I don’t want to give.

I don’t want to be those things for them.

I’m different for everyone I know. I be the person they want me to be.

I’m not sure which is me. I try to make them like me.

Then I hate them because I get sick of my role, my mask, my lie.

If I wasn’t so embarrassed, I think I’d make a good actor.

It hurts to be around some of my friends.

There are a few people I know, who are beautiful.

Inside and out.

Really, and truly beautiful.

They don’t realise how beautiful they are.

I wish I could be them.

I’m stuck. I’m so much less than everyone else. Smaller, younger, dumber, slower, clumsier, uglier, fatter, greedier, meaner, pettier, angrier.

Sometimes, I get affection, but I don’t know what to do with it. I realise too late that it means nothing to me, and then I’m trapped in it.

I’m too weak to change it then.

I like to try to be deep, different if I can’t be normal. I can’t pull it off.

I’m not sure what it makes me look like.

I don’t really like it, but I suppose that I will settle for who I am, maybe accept it, tell myself I’ll find a way around my flaws, tell myself that there’s a solution to my shortcomings and I’ll find it. I probably won’t.

I’m a realist. I guess I’d find it easier if I believed in something, but then I’m dependent. I don’t want to be weaker than I already am. Faith is weakness.

Life sucks. Shit happens to everyone. But it still feels so hard, so much, like too much, when I stop to think about it.

But what I really want is someone.

They won’t be perfect, I know.

They won’t be from a fairytale, a Prince Charming.

People like that only exist for people who aren’t me. The ones in magazines and movies and sitting at the popular table in the cafeteria.

I can’t change that. I want to change me.

I want someone who is right for me.

I want them to be fucked up, like me. I want to be the one to pick up the pieces and put them back together so I feel like I’m doing something right.

They probably won’t love me, and I won’t love them.

I’d like that though.

I just want to feel something.

I want someone to hold me.

When I finally snap, lose it, drop the ball, break, crack and jump over the edge, I want the one who will jump with me.

I tell myself I could deal with me, if I had my someone.