It's All in My Head

I barely have the will to trust myself. People are supposed to have it, right? It's what keeps them going on, what keeps them sane, happy... Not me. I've begun thinking that something is seriously wrong with me. It's not the ordinary pretense of being a wacko, dipsomaniac or drug-dependent... I must be losing it.

Why can't I be like the rest who can relate to the most common matters? Subjects, for instance, aren't they supposed to be the lifeblood of a student's life? It's not fair. I strive to make my self competitive enough to stay afloat, but the ones who prioritize the shallowest things such as their love life tend to do better than me. I am not trying hard enough. They can understand Math the way I never did. I pride myself in sticking up for logic. Ironically, I don't think I didn't have any from the start. All I have is a cllection of illusions I acquired through my influences.

How can they take failure with a smile? Our lives at fifteen revolve around academics and nothing else. Yet, they digress. They dilly-dally from the path to their future. They don't care. They don't look forward to the consequences. All they think about is finding a crush, going to the mall, patching it up with the who-knows-whom they fought with... Or maybe it's just me who's assuming perfection.

A little trauma involving Mathematics stirred all my miseries to life. Math? I cried over it? Will you consider it a laughing matter now that you know that I once contemplated suicide because of fear of failure in it? Astoundingly, I never lost hope to the lowest point enough to do it. I may not love all the people around me, but I do respect their wishes to see me suffer all the more. My masochistic tendencies bestowed me the endurance to wallow in anguish as long as it takes. Forget about whining to everyone you know within a one mile-radius, I prefer the pain alone. I am selfish, yes. When my depression strikes, I automatically hate any happy person I see. I disregard their help and attention. I don't need a hypocrite's charity.

I'm not a person to be pitied upon! I hate showing my weaknesses. People show theirs anyway, expecting to gain sympathy for their woes. I say corporal punishment be implemented as penalty for this. I have always fancied myself as a tough girl, showing her vulnerability but actually laying a trap for the morons who dare approach her. Aww, somebody's hurt? You didn't see this coming, did you? Excuse me, I'm not a saint.

Well, you're more idiotic than I have assumed. Humans, they're such a bunch of weaklings if not freak shows.

~*~
I want to sleep but I can't. I don't think that a complete one (compared to what?) would even pacify my underlying rage. Funny thing, rage. My emotional range is very limited, and rage happened to belong to it apart from guilt, boredom, deviousness and occasional hysteria.

I want to get out of here. Run away to a far place all by myself... just running endlessly till I tire myself out. It's better than sitting still. The thoughts will rush back to me steadily. At least, when I exert physical effort, my mind will work on it instead. Hmm, smiting Vadons dead with lightning are included here, I hope...