10 Me Too (1/2)

I'm drained, bored, and hate everything.

I hate myself, this house, my Aunt, my parents, my sister, and... myself.

”Why?” you may ask... I don't exactly know.

You know those times when you feel stuffy inside with a flurry of over-complicated emotions and just want too lay in bed,not moving for days?

That's what I feel like.

I don't know why I feel so hateful, and that makes me feel so guilty to everyone who doesn't even know they're being hated right now.

Is this what they call 'teenage angst'?

”When did I become so cliche?”

I turn on my phone and decide to read some more stories and try to make myself feel better.

No new updates...

Is it strange that I feel like crying right now?

”Stupid hormones”

I turn in my bed and try to think of other things I did to make myself feel better.

Eat a snack.

Go to sleep.

Read stories online.

Daydream.

Go for a walk.

All those things I normally like to do aren't appealing to me. In fact, I don't feel like myself.

I find some stored away energy to think about how I've been neglecting my Facebook account for days.

”His favorite color is toffee brown.”

”He likes the early hours of morning”.

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”And running.”

He wrote it like it was no big deal to just, open up to someone. It's obvious that he didn't know how scared I was to share such trivial stuff with him.

”Would it kill you to be less paranoid?”

My aunt's gentle voice replays in my head.

It was my first day of second grade, when she asked me that stupid question. I was terrified that I would be hated by my peers and teachers.

”Sammy, no ones going to hate you, be yourself, and let everything else be decided by chance.”

She hugged me outside of the playground at the school, and gave me a gentle shove towards the teacher, greeting kids and their parents as they walked in.

I shuffle my way up the path, my head, spinning, I find a nice corner to hide in, but choose to sit in the middle of the room.

My teacher introduces herself.

She's called Ms. Tulip.

The other kids played around, already calling each other by name.

'Just be yourself...'

I repeat to myself.

'But no one would like you, Carmen doesn't even like to talk to you.'

The voice in my head stated.

'You can't be yourself, you can't, everyone will hate you.'

'I don't want to be hated-'

A boy b.u.mped into me, knocking his toy cars out of his hands.

”S-sorry”

He rubbed his rug-burned elbow as he looked up at me, then, at his cars.

This was it. My chance.

I squatted down and gave him my hand, he took it. Then I picked up his cars and handed them back to him.

I smile.

”It's OK. The game you were playing looks fun, can I play?”

My heart is beating faster than a drum. ' Please let the smile work, please!'