The Anonymous Writer

The Journal With No Name
2013-04-28 21:39:23 (UTC)

Don't Mind Me Rambling Again..

Dear Journal,

My birthday just passed this Friday. It was all good. Life was pretty good. Yet still I found myself at times making other people happy. I've been doing that my whole life; making other people happy. My mom always asked me when I was a really, really young kid what my favorite color was and I'd always reply, "All of them!!" I never told her I had a favorite. I just wanted everything and everybody to be happy. Sometimes I put other's happiness first, even if they are the smallest of things. Okay... so maybe I can be selfish at times. Maybe there are times where I hurt other people's feelings. That only started happening recently because I've realized I need to work on me. Although now I think it's too late.

I just... I don't know... I can't stop crying. Journal, so much has happened to me this week and yet I have been emotionless until now.

Seriously, my dad was in the hospital and I wasn't even crying. He almost died. I didn't even feel the slightest bit sad. Maybe worried, but I didn't even feel like I was welling any waterworks. I can't make up shit like that either. It's just too sick to make that up.

Maybe this is all just nonsense, but I do have something that may make sense. Sometimes I feel like I'm Holden Caulfield. When I read Catcher in the Rye, the world made sense to me just for a little bit. I felt sad for the boy, but I also understood what he was going through. I don't want to grow up. I'm scared. For a while I was excited to grow up, be able to drive, get my own house, get my own job. Now? I'm scared to death. Who knows if I'll ever get a tennis scholarship. Who knows if colleges will accept me. Who knows if medical school will accept me. Maybe I'll just end up as a grouchy 40 year old lady who lives in solitude in her cruddy apartment.

I know I'm just throwing stuff out there for you to read. I know I'm typing stuff down as I'm thinking of it. I know this is stuff that's cycling through my head on a daily basis.

Just ughhhhhhhhhhhh. Can that be an emotion? Ughhhhh?

I told my dad I wanted to kill myself today. I had that thought in my head for the last 3 years. I constantly have thoughts of ways to pull it off. Pills, knives, nooses, and even just falling down somewhere tall. I'd probably go with the pills or knife though, to be honest. Right after I told him that I locked the door and went into the shower. I laid in there for 20 minutes. My dad was banging on the door, screaming, banging. "Brooke! Brooke! I love you. Come out right now. I want to talk to you. Broooooke!" I had to get out of the tub. I told him to stop shouting. "I just wanted to take a fucking shower." He was worried that I was actually going to do it. I locked the door. The shower was running. I mean heck it sure looked like I was.. but of course I didn't. I just have this memory to keep with me. There's more to this memory, but I'm going to keep that with me, Journal.

My dad is soft with me right now. He's being extra careful around me. God. Why can't I just be the type of person I've always pictured myself as?

Fit in body shape and endurance. Insanely smart and always getting straight A's. Plays tennis with my tennis friends for hours on end. Winning tournaments left and right... tournaments that actually count for something. I want to travel for tennis. I don't want to be the girl that has their dad threatening to pull them out of private lessons and saying they're going to end up as a recreational player. I also, mostly importantly, want to make a difference. Now, I know I'm one of the smallest things in this universe, but so was Rosa Parks in comparision. Or even Albert Einstein. Or Marilyn Monroe. Goddammit I want to change the world in one way or another. Maybe it's too end bullying. Maybe it's to completely change America education for the better. Just something!!

I always thought I'd be a somebody, ya know? It's kind of heart breaking to already feel like you won't own up to me much as a 14-year-old girl. And it's heart breaking to not have much emotion to much. I mean the Doctors were worried my dad's lungs would stop.. but no tears for me. I just keep living on my life day by day... making myself a knee high rut.

I'm not good at anything. I got my first B ever in language arts. So I can't even say I got straight As in that catergory like I used to brag about. I've given up on my spelling now.. just like whatever. No point, right? I can't play tennis. My dad pointed to a kid named Priyan the other dad and told me that I should be just as good as him. That he paid too much money into private lessons and clinics to not be anywhere close to him. That I should be at his level. I'm so far from his ability though. It made me depressed as hell.

Oh? And for my birthday present? I got a juicer. I really did want a juicer, really. However I asked for it if I got straight A's... which I didn't get. So now I'm going to have this juicer at my house as a reminder that I got my first B in language arts... and getting a B at math.

Nobody wants to play tennis with me anymore. I always ask and people make up excuses to not play with me. I now play with kids that are below my ability because that's all who wants to play with me. All my life I wanted just one tennis friend. I wanted to play tennis all day and have them hit with me for hours. I thought Esther would be that friend when I moved her, but unfortunately she hates tennis. And nobody wants to be with me.. tennis-wise.

Not to mention I'm a bit chunky. Always have been all my life. It doesn't help having a big butt and short, stubby legs. I have small and white feet. I have small and stubby fingers. My torso is twice as long as my legs. My torso is much skinnier than my lower half, but it's really not that skinny. I've always hated my body. I run now, and I've been trying to eat healthier, but I know it'll never get as skinny as I want it to be. I want to be like Selena Gomez or even like my friends Esther or Bea. I won't though. That's the reality.

I just thought if I moved down South, life would change for the better. My parents would have friends. My tennis would be a lot like my Jamie's training for gymnastics was. (Long hours. Hard training.) I'd get a heck of a lot skinnier/fitter. I'd be smarter at school, and the school would be much nicer than my last. But the funny thing is moving didn't change anything for me. Nothing changes.

I hate myself. I try to do better, and there is nothing to show for that. I hate myself more for knowing I could do even better than my current "trying effort."

just ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Signing off or whatever,
Brooke Whatever.

P.S. Don't worry about me killing myself. I'll never do it. My mom would blame my dad for making me kill myself. Sasha would get even more fucked up in the head. Sasha would just be left in the dust confused. My friends wouldn't know what hit them. My teachers would be upset by the news, some may cry and some may say that I just didn't try hard enough. ANd then there would be people who would BS stuff saying how much they loved me and missed me, when really if they cared about me then they'd have done something before that incidident. Trust me, I've already mapped all that shit out.

Plus, I'm too much of a pussy.

So that's that. I'm a coward. I'm not good enough. I'm chunky. I'm emotionless at the wrong times. I'd rather be dead. My future is just a big road for dissappointment. That's all I do to people. Seriously.

Okay here comes the tears. Fuck.

And why do I always feel something right around spring and winter? Everything else is just a numbness. FUck.