Did you really think there would be an ever after?

Christmas is gone and I find myself facing months of winter with nothing to look forward to.  Just months of school, pointless homework, all leading up to my imminent graduation.  I have little to sustain me for these months, just the lingering love of my sister and parents.  My friends have forgotten I exists, my material possesions mean nothing.  I am alone.  Always so goddamn alone.

I can’t clear the fuzziness in my head.  I cannot find the motivation to work or the inclination to even be productive.  I want to do nothing.  I want to sleep.  I never want to wake up again.  I want to go to sleep at night with no worries, no anxiety, just peace.  I want to rest in peace.  But it can’t happen.  I’m so worried.

I find myself struggling to maintain this facade of normalcy.  I listen to others complain of their problems-such petty problems they are, too-and yet I never say a word.  The rage builds day after day, burning black inside.  I laugh so much-but why?  I don’t know.  Sometimes I can forget who I am, and then I’m happy.  Sometimes I can forget everything.

Not often enough.

The anger is barely contained, waiting for the day I will let it out.  But I never will.  I can’t.  I don’t know how.  No one would love me anymore.  I don’t know if they do as it is.  Mostly I don’t care.  I do not fear being alone, I simply dread it.  When I’m alone, I am aware.  When I am alone, I am me. 

I don’t want to be me.

What would I give to trade places with someone else?  Let them struggle through my life, while I can enjoy theirs.  How I would enjoy it, if my biggest problem was my over-protective parents.  I would soak myself in the security of a home to come to, of a place to live. 

My life is void of security.  I miss the days of looking forward to going home, where it was warm and comfy and I could be myself.  “Home” is a word loosly used, a cold dwelling that I can only call my house for a little while longer.  And here, I am myself more than anywhere else, and I hate it.  I hate myself.  I hate everything I’ve become, everything I am.  I used to be so self-assured, so comfortable, and now I make myself uneasy.  Nervous.  Angry.  So goddamn angry.

Why couldn’t I have done better?  Why couldn’t I have done one goddamn thing right?

I keep telling myself that this won’t matter someday.  That someday, everything will be okay and I will be happy.  I don’t know if I can make it to that day.  I don’t know if I want to.