This sucks, I know it sucks; I don't need to be told it sucks. It was this little story swimming in my head when I had a bad day, so I wrote it out. But it's just a vent story, so it's undeveloped, rushed, and there is lack of detail and rough consistency. Fragments are too present and the format is terrible, but the format part is not my fault. My computer is shit.

She tried to be happy, she really tried, because she knew that being down all the time would get her nowhere in life. But it's so hard to be happy when you're no comfortable in your own skin. It's so hard to be happy when you do not have a single friend in the world, and people take pleasure in taunting you. It's so hard to be happy when even your parents make hurtful remarks and pretend not to notice. She tried losing weight, she really did. She ate healthier food and she started exercising. However, when she jogged the streets, she always ran into someone she knew. She lived in a small town, so it was inevitable. And those people, those people were so cruel. Those people, her classmates, her neighbors, the people who should have been her friends, they laughed at her. They mocked her when she jogged by. They would make pig faces at her and snort, and they would start to jog with her just to sneer and show that they could carry themselves much faster than she could with her thick legs. The crueler of them mapped out her routes and lay in waiting for her, so that when she jogged past they could throw food and rocks at her. She begged her parents for a bike one day; she hoped that with a bike she could go fast enough to escape her tormenters. They only laughed. "Sorry sweetie, but you'll probably break the seat!" her mother told her. She just nodded and held back her tears. She stopped exercising; she just couldn't take it anymore. She couldn't take all the laughs and remarks at her expense, she couldn't take the pig snorts and she couldn't take the food and the stones hitting against her head and making her stumble. She continued to eat healthier, but without the exercise, there was hardly a point to it. She tried exercising at home, with push-ups and stretching, jumping jacks and curl-ups. But she was so embarrassed when the room shook under her jumping jacks, and the embarrassment got worse when her parents began to whisper and snicker at her, so she stopped that too…It seemed hopeless, really. She knew starving herself wouldn't work, because unlike many people she understood that when the body doesn't get its nutrients and calories, it stores fat. If she starved herself, sure she would lose weight eventually but first she would become fatter, and she couldn't handle that. Besides, but she didn't want to turn into an ill-looking anorexic. She would get made fun of and ridiculed just as much if she looked like that, and she still wouldn't feel comfortable in her own skin. What she really wanted was to feel comfortable and left alone. She didn't need to be beautiful, just normal. And happy, she really wanted to be happy for once. She honestly couldn't remember the last time she smiled… And then one day, she found something that made her happy. It was on Christmas Eve, at her grandparents' house. The family was gathered there, everyone chatting and catching up, the majority of the female guests helping in the kitchen. She wandered out onto the back porch, not wanting to be around the crowd of people. A curse was heard and she looked to see her three of her cousins, gathered in a circle and sharing a bong. She paused, just staring. "If you promise not to tell, you can join us." The current holder of the bong told her. She nodded to him, actually smiling slightly, since for the first time she could remember, she was being invited to join in with others. "Alright." The cousin next to the current bong user smirked to her and scooted to the side to make room. The first hit was like magic, for no reason other than the inhalation she felt her heart soar. She laughed at the pure happiness she felt and knew right then and there, that this was something she was going to have to do more often. And she did, she continued to smoke with her cousins after that night, and to her relief, they didn't mind having her around. Not only had she found something that boosted her spirits, but also people were accepting her. As time when on, though, she became curious about what else there was to try. Weed was nice, weed was good…But she was aware of stronger substance out there. Stronger meant better, right? So she searched out dealers, requesting anything that would make her feel good, so long as it came without needles. Needles frightened her, and besides, she felt she was so fat that it'd be too hard to locate a good vein anyway. And that's how she came to chasing the dragon. Heroin, foil, a cigarette, and a lighter were all she needed to bring herself to a state of elation. And she did, for months she chased the dragon, shut away in her room and left to herself in rapture. She no longer smoked with her cousins, she was in better places than the likes of marijuana could bring her too, and she knew that they would refuse to try heroin. Not only would they refuse to try, but also they would worry and tell on her. She couldn't let that happen, than the only thing she lived for would be taken away from her. Fortunately for her, it was not questioned why she no longer spent any time with her cousins, as they moved onto collage and she was still in her junior year. Steadily, her sessions of ecstasy grew shorter and less satisfying. There were followed by periods of paranoia and exhaustion. Her parents noticed that good amounts of money would go missing, but they never thought of their daughter. They only blamed each other for spending too much, or blamed the electric bill for raising prices. She continued to chase the dragon, using it not only now to reach artificial bliss, but because she felt she could not survive without it. Even though she lost weight and paled, her parents never considered that she might be using narcotics. They hardly noticed her, but when they did each of them complimented her on her slimmer appearance, but rebuked her on the roughness of said slim appearance. They never questioned her looks or how she got them, but they did give their opinion about them. She didn't care at this point though; she didn't care what they thought about it. She cared about what they thought just as much as they cared about her, which was very little. Her euphoric delusions started to get less colorful and she had to inhale more to compensate. Her classmates continued to mock her, though now they mocked her for looking like a "dried up crack whore". She ignored them mostly when they just made the comments, but now if they tried to get in her face or blocked her path (keeping her from returning to quest for her sweet, beloved dragon) she screeched like a harpy and shoved them away. That's when they decided to leave her alone, they deemed her a "psycho druggie bitch" and claimed that she was dangerous and unpredictable, and therefore should be left alone. Besides, they didn't take much pleasure in tormenting her now, because she cared so little. They used to see unshed tears in her eyes when they insulted her, but now she looked right through them. And when they were physical, stated, she was only angry to be bothered (and kept away from her precious never ending chase after her glorious dragon), and not by what it was they were doing. So now that her classmates left her alone, they didn't really notice her. They stopped paying attention and moved onto other outcasts. Her grades began slipping, because now she was confused easily and had no motivation to complete any assignments anyway. Her teachers noticed this, but they did not notice her and they did not question why. Her parents were as oblivious as ever, not noticing that she went from slim to stick-like and still blaming each other for the disappearing cash. They did not notice her. No one noticed her addiction. No one cared when the heroin consumed her and made her sanity fold in on itself. She broke steadily and silently, lost to forever to substance. Not a single person noticed.