12:51pm a 6 pound 9 ounce baby was born in Hackensack hospital to a 37-year-old woman, and a 34 year old man who have been trying to have a baby after two miscarriages. Technically, I wasn’t suppose to be born since my parents wanted two kids, and I would have been third if my two would-be siblings would have taken my brother and I’s place. My brother and I basically raised ourselves because our mother was always busy sleeping, and our father worked sunrise to dinner. Since two years old I was sent to temple for “Mom and Tots” and pre-school during the day, which turned into a half a day in kindergarten, and then shipped off to a half a day at pre-school. September 11th, 2001, my fifth birthday, was a day forever changed by the terrorist attacks on the Twin Towers and a birthday that was never celebrated again.
I was forced to go to temple throughout my batmitzvah, which I absolutely despised. I never really understood religion, even when I was younger, yet they still tried to shove it down my throat. As I got older and made it clear I hated religion and was atheist, the more disapproving my barely religious mother got. As for schooling, my dad constantly pushed me to do well at a young age, which I believe may have been the start and tiny influence on being a perfectionist. My brother is two years younger and three grades lower than me due to the cut-off of the school system. As soon as I hit fourth grade and my brother hit first, I was on my own for school because my mom was too busy helping my brother. This started a one-sided war between my brother and I for attention.
I never had many friends in elementary school because I was shy and didn’t talk. My grades constantly suffered due to my refusal to raise my hand and participate in class. Middle school started and I made some really good friends and came out of my shell for a bit. It felt better to have friends to talk to then be alone with the constant nagging of my mind telling me I wasn’t good enough, that I was too fat, too ugly, my hair was too curly. I guess I can thank the media for that, as well as some of my classmates’ sly commentary. My friends taught me never to trust anyone, because come eighth grade and you’re not good enough anymore, and they are sick of you, sick of constantly worrying about you because your parents didn’t care enough and they felt responsible for anything that were to happen to me. I didn’t fit in anywhere, I never felt at home with anyone. Come sophomore year, the only friends I’ve ever really had decide to all making it official we were no longer friends in the worst way possible.
The perfect classmates I was constantly surrounded by showed me I didn’t look like them, I would never be them. Of course I’ve known that since the third grade because you can’t ignore the media. The constant judging of my peers taught me a lot of things. It taught me I am either to wealthy, or not wealthy enough, which is ironic considering our parents, are the source of our income, not because of our own actions. It taught me that I am a white American, that I don’t have to worry. I’ve been taught that because I am a white girl, I’m not allowed to walk around alone because I’m going to get raped, I’m not allowed to dress a certain way because I might get raped, I can’t talk to strangers because I’ll get raped. We listen to what people tell us, what is acceptable, and what is not. That is the basis of our society.
Since I was two years old I’ve wanted to be a vet. That thought faded away for the most part because I don’t like the idea of being tied down. Go to school, go to college, go to grad school, and work until I die, and in the process have everyone bossing me around, living to please others. School taught me that I am not good enough, not smart enough to be in AP’s that I can always do better no matter how much I try, putting immense amounts of stress on. I’ve been taught it’s better not to say anything at all, to be invisible because if you are invisible you can’t do anything wrong, you can’t be judged. If you’re invisible you can avoid the snickers of classmates, the screams from parents about attitude problems. You can avoid living and avoid criticism. But the thing you can’t ever escape from is your mind, you’re trapped inside your mind and there’s no way out. You can’t ignore the reminders of the mirror, the reminders that you’ll never be perfect, never be enough. There’s always room for improvement and things to change. I have been taught to cower away, to blend myself in, to avoid being an individual in fear of what others think, fear their secret motives and their stabbing thoughts. I have been taught nothing I do will be right and that I’m a perfectionist that will never be. I am the sleepless nights, I am the Saturday nights spent alone, and I am how it sounds at four in the morning. These things all make up who I am, and will reside in my bones forever.

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I am so sick of this, of no one liking me, wanting be around me, blowing me off, ignoring me. You’re all almost there, you all almost won. I don’t belong anywhere, with anyone. This emptiness, loneliness, is so deep, it really is becoming unbearable. The only thing stopping me from slicing my wrist to the bone, or swallowing bottles of pills is mere exhaustion from trying, hoping, I don’t want to leave my bed the 3 feet to my bathroom to retrieve the end of my life. No one cares anymore. How could you not look into my eyes and see everything, the hollowness. It’s not that hard, all you’d have to do is look, but no one cares enough to do such a simple thing. The only thing I wanted in this terribly lonely world was a friend, a sincere friend who genuinely liked me and would stay.

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I strive for perfection, but the problem with that is people’s contradicting ideas of perfection. I want to be perfect, but it’s impossible to please everyone, and it drives me insane. Some like small boobs, some like big boobs. Some like blondes, some like brunettes. Some like tan, some like pale. Some like body mods, some don’t. What is a perfectionist suppose to do? Trying to be perfect in every way to everyone is exhausting. It’s like you might as well love yourself because someone thinks you’re perfect the way you are, but at the same time it makes me dizzy thinking how I can’t ever be good enough. It’s impossible to please everyone, yet it’s what I strive to do. It’s a never ending tug of war.

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My two best friends, I set them up. I’m happy they’re both happy now, because that’s what I want. But at the same time I’m jealous that Zac will never like me like that. It sucks liking a gay guy. I feel worthless.

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Loving someone death can touch

My sweet Donnie, your loss is the worst one I’ve ever had to deal with. You were the only one who didn’t choose to leave me. I had no idea you were so bad, the last time we talked. I should have known, when you didn’t talk about your cancer and how you were and your progress, you knew you were going to die. That last night we were able to talk, that night was amazing. I hope I made it clear how much I love you, when I said I really love you, and you said it back. I don’t know how I loved you, was it romantic? It was more than friends. If we got more time together, I’m pretty sure I would have fallen in love with you. I hate how I don’t have all our conversations to read, from when we met. I don’t have the date we met. My Donnie, I seriously would have driven to Canada to meet you and lay in the hospital with you and watch Star Wars and Donnie Darko with you. You’re a beautiful person, I can’t comprehend that we won’t be talking ever again, that you’re gone. I know we talked sporadically throughout, because I figured you’d message me when you could, especially towards the end. I didn’t know it’d be so soon. I wish we could have talked about everything, the stupid things, I don’t even know your birthday. Donnie, you being gone is so hard, but if there is some sort of afterlife, you’re there, and you can have all the mice you want, and Daisy will join you when her time comes. It’s weird how much someone you never even met can effect an individual, and mean so much. Especially you, we talked around once a week, when we could. Ever since I got the message that you passed, I feel you with me for some strange reason. I never believed in any of that shit, but I really do feel like you’re watching me or something, watching over me, maybe? I just can’t believe you won’t ever message me again, your name won’t pop up on my phone. I really hope you understood how much you meant to me, how much I loved you. I hope we can still meet one day, if there is some sort of afterlife. I love you so much, Donnie Darko.

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I’m being plagued by this entire situation.

I woke up at 4:27 bawling my eyes out, and I knew exactly why.

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As if anything in my life would ever go right.

I get happy about something and it either gets ruined or something else happens that cancels out any feeling of joy I’ve had.

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It’s strange,

how simple things like

you calling out your friend’s name behind me

still sends shivers down my spine

or seeing your name

still makes my stomach drop

and leaves me with an ominous feelings

I can’t quite shake.

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I can’t stand the society we live in. Where business rules everything. Triggered by a story I just read about a girl who worked at Subway, who paid in cash with her own money for a homeless man to get a sandwich, while he frantically searched his pockets for the ten dollars he thought he had. And later, the girl’s manager yelled at her saying if he didn’t have money she should have told him too bad. She then quit. There is a homeless man starving, and out of the goodness of this girl’s heart, she used her own earned money to let the man have a meal, and she gets scolded? That’s disgusting. I hate this fucking world.

Link to the story:

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I’m being forced into this SAT class that goes for 8 weeks and it’s fucking terrible. I can’t memorize 84 or more words a week plus do like four 20 minute or more test things they’re making us do which turns into 4 hour practice tests at the end. Nobody told me the time it was at last night so I cooked a whole dinner for everybody because my mom can’t cook and we’re trying to eat healthy so I did only to be told my class was at 6:30 so I didn’t even get to eat dinner, nor did anybody even bother telling me if they liked it, and I can’t fucking do this. I have school work, I have a research paper to write, a paper in history to write, an english paper to write, and god knows what other homework and a physics test tomorrow and my wrist is getting worse and worse and worse, which i’m convinced I have carpel tunnel but every time I say something I’m always ignored like nothing I fucking do matters. All that I matter for is doing well in school and I can’t even handle this anymore. And my dad can’t even BOTHER answering my texts ever. I fucking can’t. I want to kill myself.

I want to kill myself.

I want to kill myself.

I’m going to kill myself.

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