Excerpts and Daydreams, Useless Words

  Sometimes I want to be mean. Sometimes I want to give people a little taste of their own medicine. I lay in my bed, cry myself to sleep, and resolve myself to make things right, to stop putting myself down for another's sake. I let people walk all over me like a doormat, because I'm mature enough not to make huge deals out of little things. I wish people would be more mature. No one ever believes I have problems. If only they knew. What they would do,  I thought as I once again held back sobs of depression, clutching my arms around my chest and waiting for my body to stop shaking, for me to calm down enough to talk sense into my biased mind. The window-side bed under me was warm and fluffy, allowing me to sink in and revel in my fit of selfishness for the few minutes I was out of control. 

  Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Soon I was just laying there, staring out of the open window with a thick blanket covering me, the stars of the deep night sky reminding me of my place in the enormous world. My problems were petty compared to others', and they couldn't be seen when placed into the big picture. I meant nothing.

  Nothing. No. I refused to let myself go into that all too familiar torrent of despair again, but yet I couldn't help it. Friends always came to me for advice, poured out their problems and frustrations, while I would comfort them and give them something to look forward to, brighten the mood if I had nothing to say, at least make them feel better. No one deserves to be miserable, it's such a horrid thing to do to someone. People don't realize the harm they can cause without realizing it. But I helped them in their times of need, and suddenly they vanished when I was no longer needed. Sweet friends I have.

  And I was always the quiet one, the one that no one knows exist. The one that sits in the back corner and does all her work, and mingles with only the one person who she becomes close to. I knew I was pretty. I had pretty features, but due to my lay low personality, I was never anything special. Never. And no one ever took me seriously, because I was short. They would mistake me for a small child, treat me like a small child even when they knew how old I was. 

  One would think that family would help, but it only made everything worse. Being yelled at and lectured all the time, never being good enough, always letting them down. Being told how to behave by a sibling nearly a generation younger, always being bossed around no matter what and by who! And not being allowed to make any snide remarks.

  It was enough to drive anyone mad.

  It was enough to let one's eyes slip accidentally to the small blade that hid itself in a drawer.

  It was enough to hold it to one's wrist and quickly slit it, relish in the pain and watch the blood pour out, and feel sorry for yourself.

  I knew I was just becoming an attention seeker. I wanted people to know what they've done to someone who was born without a care in the world. I hated attention seekers, and yet there I was, becoming a hypocrite. Never being part of the group, even among your own friends! Always the third wheel, always the one that gets interrupted in the middle of speaking and forgotten about. I was done. Just done.

~Azura