I hate this feeling, like I just don't care any more but at the same time I do? It comes and it goes, but it's always there in the back of my head washing over me whenever it feels like it. No one even notices, and even if they do I don't accept anybody's help. They just frustrate me because they try to comfort me by saying 'oh I know how you feel' or 'I understand completely'. But that doesn't make me feel better because I know that's just something they're saying. And another reason I don't accept help is, well I don't know if it's stubbornness or pride or trust issues--which believe me I have--I just can't accept the help or talk to anyone. It really is a shame I'm never going to amount to anything...I could have been something really great I bet. If only people hadn't screwed me over right from the beginning then maybe I could accept the help. Maybe I would have never been this way. Who knows? Because I sure as hell don't, nor will I ever know. And neither will any other person. Sad ain't it, but the saddest part is, is that I'm writing this as if someone would actually ever read it when really I'm the only one that ever will.

My life is pretty sad, I mean not if you saw it from the outside and the life I pretend to lead; but the life that I really do lead in private, behind closed doors. Away from family and friends. Away from the world. That is the real me. The sad pathetic person who sits in her room crying, contemplating suicide, having panic/anxiety attacks. That is me. That is who I am hiding. The person people see at school is nowhere near the real me, and the irritable solemn-looking person at home is only a small fraction of being almost halfway close to the real me. And that sucks.