Sunday, November 27

Meet Misery


Like a child who lost his mother in a crowded supermarket. I have never felt so alone in my life. Like no one can understand anything that goes on. I complain, and no one listens. Like they are sick of hearing my complaints. But I don’t do it very often. Maybe once or twice a week. Not often at all.  I sit in the corner of my bedroom every night. Every. Single. Night. And I think about how much different my life would be if I had someone, anyone I can talk to. But every text I send out doesn’t get a response. Every phone call I make goes to voicemail. Every Facebook friend request I send, is ignored. On my twitter, 0 followers. Even total strangers don’t care. I remember this old guy at the corner of 4th Avenue and Broom Street. People would give him any little change they had. I bet if I were homeless and starving, people wouldn’t even give me a penny. They would look at my miserable face and think to their selves, “She deserves it. It’s all her fault she’s like this”. But I don’t, and it’s not. You’re probably thinking, “What a miserable, spoiled brat” while reading this… aren’t you? I’m not a spoiled brat, but I am miserable. Miserable as (beep). I wasn’t always like this. Surprisingly. I used to wake up every morning thinking that the day was going to beautiful, and if it wasn’t beautiful, I would tell myself that tomorrow would be better before I went to sleep. I used to have fiends, I used to love them. I used to love learning, I used to love life. I used to love everything. But that was before. Before I realized that nothing was worth loving. Before I realized that I would always get my hopes up, to be disappointed all over again. Before I realized that there was more to life than Havensight, or Magen’s Bay. Before I realized that there wasn’t a pot of gold at the end of any rainbow. Before I realized that there’s not use in fighting for world peace. Before i realized that there was nothing worth fighting over. Before I realized that happiness was just a figment of one’s imagination.  And that one was only as happy as he or she wanted to be. And I didn’t want to be happy.