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I'm seventeen years old in twelve days, and an hour and a
half ago, I realized something. I'm dead. I'm dead
inside. I'm dead, spiritually and emotionally. That was
the thing I've been trying to figure out, trying to
understand what the weariness was in me for the past few
months. I'm starving for life; none is in me.
Few the past few months, I've felt a weariness building.
The kind where I just want to lay down, sleep, and never
wake up. My life's been a mess of late, and I've been
struggling with the world. My family's fallen apart, my
grades have been dropping, and my body's been feeling worse
and worse. It's also hard trying not to think of the fact
that I'm now a complete charity case. If I did ever start
thinking about, I know I'd never be able to stop.
The stresses I've experienced in my struggles a few months
ago must have taken more of a toll on me than I at first
realized. I know that trying to deal with your own poverty
and the break-up of your family, though love-less, isn't
exactly a cake-walk, but I buried any strong emotions in
stoicism and continued onward as I always did, one day at a
Only now I think I do too good of a job. I'm too much of a
stoic. Throughout my teenage years, I've worked so hard at
burying my regrets, my feelings of failure, my urges, etc.,
trying to control them, trying to plow through my stress.
Now the soul has taken the toll. For months I've been
weary, and I've never been able to alleviate it.
I've recently lost faith in the world. I've lost faith in
myself long ago. And now I have nothing.
I thirst for the outside world, to walk out into the sun,
take off my shirt, and just bask in its rays. I want to
have fun, to go out into world and escape my suffering. We
all want to, I guess. Only, there really aren't many
things that are fun to me out there. How my friends have
fun, how people I see and don't know have fun, isn't very
fun to me.
Only, it's not the action. It doesn't matter what you do,
it's how you feel when you're doing it. I can't find