And time can do so much.

I believe the first time I wrote in this, it was the end of my 8th grade year.  I was 14.  So really, it has only been about 3 and a half years.  It hasn’t been too long.  But when you’re only 2 months away from turning 18, 3 and a half years is a long time.  At least, it feels like such a long time. 

I used to write mostly about what happened on a daily basis.  My friends, my activities, my life.  I wrote about my pet peeves.  Occaisonally, I would write an entry about how I really “felt.”  Usually, within 24 hours of posting, the entry was made private.  I was afraid of people knowing how I felt.  But then I came to a startling conclusion, which allows me to write frankly about whatever I want:

People don’t care what I think.  More importantly, I don’t care what they think. 

There are some things I just don’t understand about people.  They’re just so fucking weak.  They cry and whine about all their little problems, expecting pity.

I’m particularly tired of teenagers whining about their lives.  It all seems so trivial.  “Oh, I fought with my mom, she doesn’t understand me.  My boyfriend broke up with me, so I’m going to cut myself.”  No one has a perfect life.  But sometimes, the people with the loving parents and the good income and the friends and the looks still say they have shitty lives. Why? 

I am honestly perplexed.  I live in a fucking icebox with my senile mother and my drunk father.  We are ridiculously poor.  The house is falling apart.  I have no close friends, which can probably be blamed on some character flaw of mine.  I’m overweight and somewhat unattractive.  I have 2 chronic diseases, back pain, a poor immune system, and tension headaches.  I was diagnosed with “disruptive behaviour disorder, NOS”.  And yet, through all of it, I have managed to, for the most part, stay strong.  I haven’t broken down yet, though it grows closer every day.  It would be so easy to just give in, get myself thrown back into therapy, go on meds…take the easy way out.  But I refuse.

Sometimes, when the struggle has become particularly difficult, I even forget why I bother.  Why CAN’T I give in and take the easy way out?  Then I remember.  Because everyone else does.  Because everyone else is weak and they need someone to anchor to.  I need to remain solid and invincible, because I am that anchor.  I never change.  I must always be there when others need me.  I must be there to coax them out of their depressions and fits of anger.  I must be there to soothe their wounds.  I must be what they want me to be, because it’s all I know how to do.  To do anything else in unfathomable.

Sometimes I wish I had someone to anchor to.  Someone to keep me grounded, to tell me that everything will be alright.  To tell me that I’m not a horrible person and I don’t deserve all of this.  If someone could someday see me as a person…as a real human being…it would be…

It would be impossible.  Because I must remain strong, even though it is someday going to kill me.