...

"I deserve this. I deserve all these tears and memories and thoughts. I'm horrible. I always have been," I whispered, wiping furiously at my face.
"You don't deserve those things. You're not horrible," you said in return. Your attempt at comfort was worthless. None of you ever knew how to make me feel better.

"Acutally," said Samuel, "it is. One thing you'll learn as you get older, Simon, is that when people tell you something unpleasant about themselves, it's usually true."
Leave it to me to find a perfect quote about how I feel in the book I'm reading.

Needless to say I'm not coping well.
Actually, I don't think I'm coping at all.
I refuse to acknowledge much anymore.
Why even bother?
I know my entire life will be this way.

"and nothing ever gets better if no one tries to fix the mess..."
Fuck you too, Andrew John.
I guess nothing's going to get better.
Because I'm not going to change for you anymore.
And I'm certainly not going to apologize for pointing out the obvious.
Have fun watching her flirt with everyone but you.

Damn.
That was mean again.
Oh well.
You shouldn't be reading this anyway.
Neither of you should.
The first of you has always hated me.
And the other one of you is done with me.
Are you still reading this?
Stalker.

"You know nothing's ever going to change."
I think, if your voice weren't so beautiful, I'd turn you off.
But I don't think I will.
I'd rather be miserable by your voice then someone else's.

I miss Khania.
I haven't spoken to her in a really long time.
She can make me feel better.
She's always had that power.
You used to have that power too.
Fuck.
Why do I keep thinking about you?

Reading no longer distracts me.
This is all my fault though.
Maybe I should drown myself.
In the freshly opened pool.
I can see the headlines:
Local Girl Commits Suicide In Own Backyard.
Priceless.
I'd love to watch how happen your lives would become.
Hell, I'd love to see all your fake tears at my funeral.
Psh.
Who am I kidding.
None of you would show up.
A few of you my mother wouldn't even allow into the ceremony.

Some days are bad.
Some days are worse.
Either way,
We all end up in a hearse.

Hm.
That rhymed.
Maybe I should take up depressing poetry.
Like Tavia.
We can be in a club together.
I'd probably never do anything to make her hate me.
Actually, I would.
I always do.

I'm a screw up.
Should I be proud of that?
Should I be greatful that I turned out like you?
Amazing isn't it?
I've turned into the one thing I wanted to be the least.
You.