I’m supposed to be cleaning up my college crap downstairs, but I can’t stop thinking at the moment, and from experience, me thinking isn’t such a good idea. At this point, I’d probably tell you that it’s not going to be a sob story, though, I might cry at this point and tell you all my problems like you’re that one friend that I trust even more than myself, so, technically, this is just some sob story. My sob story.
It’s been almost a full month since I came home from my first year at college and already I feel like a total bitch. Yes, you heard me.
I have blown off my two best friends from high school for an interview, told my dad he didn’t understand a disability that he and I struggle with on a daily basis, and I’m probably smothering the one boy I actually enjoyed dating (sorry to you others who dated me if you ever read this…).
I have done nothing but lay around the house complaining about how there’s nothing to do and going to work at a place I used to use as a get away. It’s now my place of work which honestly makes it ONLY a job. They say if you like a place, work for it and invest your time into it. Yeah, don’t. “Why don’t you quit?” Well, I don’t know that. And for now, that’s okay for me.
Not only has all of that happened, but I’m also on ADHD meds. WHOO! Right? Well, it seems like everyone, including my family, seems to like me way more when I’m not myself, but am. Now what that means is that when I’m on my meds, everyone finally kind of seems to accept me, but when I’m not, there’s something wrong with me. I know it’s a disorder, but damn, it hurts to know that people who you thought loved you for who you were turn out to only like you when you act a certain way via drugs or just a facade.
If I wanted that kind of shit from anyone, I’d go back to high school. At least someone would tell me if they had an opinion instead of putting on a fake smile, acting like my friend and then ripping me to shreds as I turned my back. Is it too much to ask for something real?
I know only one person will probably read this and I know you’re the last person who should.
All I can think about is why I’m so f*cking broken?!
And why the hell does everyone step away when I start to fall? I’m sick of the pity friendships, the “I like you way more like this”‘s…
I’m sick of Bullsh*t.
The worst part is that I’m never going to get away from any of it. I hate comparing myself to book characters because even though you see yourself as them, they are not entirely you. However, I feel myself becoming more and more like Margo Roth Spiegelman. It’s just how she said it at the beginning of the book:
“Here’s what’s not beautiful about it: from here, you can’t see the rust or the cracked paint or whatever, but you can tell what the place really is. You can see how fake it all is. It’s not even hard enough to be made out of plastic. It’s a paper town. I mean, look at it, Q: look at all those culs-de-sac, those streets that turn in on themselves, all the houses that were built to fall apart. All those paper people living in their paper houses, burning the future to stay warm. All the paper kids drinking beer some bum bought for them at the paper convenience store. Everyone demented with the mania of owning things. All the things paper-thin and paper-frail. And all the people, too. I’ve lived here for eighteen years and I have never once in my life come across anyone who cares about anything that matters.” –John Green, Paper Towns
These paper towns with paper people… I can’t take it. I can’t watch futures burn I can’t see another paper heart cut into confetti…
I feel like running. No, I feel like leaving. Leaving to a different paper town, with paper people who burn their futures…
“At some point, you gotta stop looking up at the sky, or one of these days you”ll look back down and see that you floated away, too.”
I wish I could float away. I’d do it in a heartbeat. I’d go somewhere far from here, or anywhere anyone would likely find me. I’d do what I want. Then I’d leave again. Cut all my strings so I don’t have to wait for them to break like Margo said. She says that a paper girl has to have at least one string, right?
I don’t think I’d even have the one.
It seems like there are lynch-pins everywhere. If one goes, they all go…
All I have to do is break the first one, if I haven’t already done it…