I look out the smudged window, which is covered in finger prints of past travelers. Rain drips carefully upon the window, as I look around the scenery. I feel cold. I sit alone, with an empty seat next to me. Many people sit in front of me and behind me, chattering. People of all ages. I feel so alone, so unhappy, even though I’ve just come from athletics, I ran with friends, but why do I feel completely and utterly lonely?
Out of pure boredom and an attempt to get away from the thoughts, I look too the front window of the top story of the bus. It’s all cracked. I examine each one carefully from where I sit. Each crack has a story, big or small, it always has one. Everyone has a story, a story which has left a crack.
Different things leave cracks for different people, it depends on our level of sensitivity. But everyone has a limit. Even if they don’t show it... but I’m overthinking, again. Nothing unusual, I spend a lot of time on my own anyway.
My bus stop is next, and I prepare to hit the button. Suddenly behind me I look back to see a couple of people whispering, talking. Little groups of ‘cool people’. The reason I stopped trying, the people who ruined what friendships I used to have. I look ahead of me, and I see an actual friend, but he’s with people, that I personally don’t like. People who make him change, into someone he’s not. I know who he is, I spent almost more than 8 years of my life with this guy, I think I have a right to say ‘this isn’t you’. I mean it’s hard for him, he’s just trying to fit in, especially now, seen as almost everyone where we live knows he’s gay, and not everyone there is particularly nice. Even though we both wish it was like that. But these friends are overboard. The fact I can say I know those people too hurts me. They’ve done some crap. Crap that’s definitely not okay.
In all my thoughts I have only just realized I’ve gotten off the bus, and am walking up my hill home. Am I overthinking everything!?
Everything is a blur these days, as if I’m living in a fake world. God, I’d actually prefer if this was fake.
I enter the house, and throw my bag under the stairs, and hang my coat on the end of the stairs. I go into the living room and hug my mom, and she asks how my day was, I sigh. I explain my disappointment at my score in a test, she explains how the subject is hard, and it’s fine, no ones perfect. But it goes through one ear and out the other. My standards are becoming higher, and I expect myself to reach them, even if it’s impossible. B’s unacceptable. I have to go higher. I can’t go low, It has to be perfect.
I forgot to eat during lunch, because I was busy doing homework instead, so I throw it out, and heat up my dinner.
I engulf my dinner within seconds, and go into the computer room, and spend around twenty minutes practicing my piano pieces for grade five. When I finish banging the keys in a musical order, I head upstairs and flop against the bed, I’m already in clothes, I changed for athletics. I open up Snapchat, and open around forty snaps, and send off my streaks. My best friend immediately replies with a double chin face, which creates a small smile, which appears on my face, a real one, not a fake one. I send a picture of myself doing a similar face and laugh, as it goes into better faces. I feel warm for a bit. I stop too check my forums page, one conversation and fourteen alerts. I see messages from the listeners group chat, and then check my alerts, from Etgar, Haris, FallenRose and Dizzeh. I smile. It’s real, once again. I frown again though, I still feel empty.
I spend my time watching TV shows on netflix, and then go downstairs to watch Simpsons. One thing that creates nostalgia I actually like. Good memories that I like to remember and think about, not the usual nostalgia I receive, ( well, more like bad memories) the one that makes me unhappy, and guilty. Happiness. It’s childhood happiness, happiness I wish I still had.
I watch Liza Koshy and Haters back off season one ( once again ) and leave to go upstairs into my bedroom, too head my sister howl at me, I howl back, like the good sister I am.
I lean back and look up at the art I’ve hung upon my wall, suddenly a wave of memories hit me. I hold back tears suddenly, and shut my door. I wipe away water and whisper to myself ‘it’s okay, you’re overreacting’. I leave my room and turn my phone and tablet off and go to bed, at around 11pm. I probably cried myself to sleep.
So I just found this in my old phones notes, and I was like ‘wow, I’m still the exact same after like, half a year’ and then decided to translate it from Irish to English and share it. Not sure why I couldn’t remember typing that, but eh. Yeah. By the way, this was heavily edited, so some parts may not make sense too you, like it was way longer and had so much personal things mentioned, which I know for a fact I shouldn’t mention, nor am I open about. Also there’s probably thousands of mistakes in grammar and spelling I made.
Out of pure boredom and an attempt to get away from the thoughts, I look too the front window of the top story of the bus. It’s all cracked. I examine each one carefully from where I sit. Each crack has a story, big or small, it always has one. Everyone has a story, a story which has left a crack.
Different things leave cracks for different people, it depends on our level of sensitivity. But everyone has a limit. Even if they don’t show it... but I’m overthinking, again. Nothing unusual, I spend a lot of time on my own anyway.
My bus stop is next, and I prepare to hit the button. Suddenly behind me I look back to see a couple of people whispering, talking. Little groups of ‘cool people’. The reason I stopped trying, the people who ruined what friendships I used to have. I look ahead of me, and I see an actual friend, but he’s with people, that I personally don’t like. People who make him change, into someone he’s not. I know who he is, I spent almost more than 8 years of my life with this guy, I think I have a right to say ‘this isn’t you’. I mean it’s hard for him, he’s just trying to fit in, especially now, seen as almost everyone where we live knows he’s gay, and not everyone there is particularly nice. Even though we both wish it was like that. But these friends are overboard. The fact I can say I know those people too hurts me. They’ve done some crap. Crap that’s definitely not okay.
In all my thoughts I have only just realized I’ve gotten off the bus, and am walking up my hill home. Am I overthinking everything!?
Everything is a blur these days, as if I’m living in a fake world. God, I’d actually prefer if this was fake.
I enter the house, and throw my bag under the stairs, and hang my coat on the end of the stairs. I go into the living room and hug my mom, and she asks how my day was, I sigh. I explain my disappointment at my score in a test, she explains how the subject is hard, and it’s fine, no ones perfect. But it goes through one ear and out the other. My standards are becoming higher, and I expect myself to reach them, even if it’s impossible. B’s unacceptable. I have to go higher. I can’t go low, It has to be perfect.
I forgot to eat during lunch, because I was busy doing homework instead, so I throw it out, and heat up my dinner.
I engulf my dinner within seconds, and go into the computer room, and spend around twenty minutes practicing my piano pieces for grade five. When I finish banging the keys in a musical order, I head upstairs and flop against the bed, I’m already in clothes, I changed for athletics. I open up Snapchat, and open around forty snaps, and send off my streaks. My best friend immediately replies with a double chin face, which creates a small smile, which appears on my face, a real one, not a fake one. I send a picture of myself doing a similar face and laugh, as it goes into better faces. I feel warm for a bit. I stop too check my forums page, one conversation and fourteen alerts. I see messages from the listeners group chat, and then check my alerts, from Etgar, Haris, FallenRose and Dizzeh. I smile. It’s real, once again. I frown again though, I still feel empty.
I spend my time watching TV shows on netflix, and then go downstairs to watch Simpsons. One thing that creates nostalgia I actually like. Good memories that I like to remember and think about, not the usual nostalgia I receive, ( well, more like bad memories) the one that makes me unhappy, and guilty. Happiness. It’s childhood happiness, happiness I wish I still had.
I watch Liza Koshy and Haters back off season one ( once again ) and leave to go upstairs into my bedroom, too head my sister howl at me, I howl back, like the good sister I am.
I lean back and look up at the art I’ve hung upon my wall, suddenly a wave of memories hit me. I hold back tears suddenly, and shut my door. I wipe away water and whisper to myself ‘it’s okay, you’re overreacting’. I leave my room and turn my phone and tablet off and go to bed, at around 11pm. I probably cried myself to sleep.
So I just found this in my old phones notes, and I was like ‘wow, I’m still the exact same after like, half a year’ and then decided to translate it from Irish to English and share it. Not sure why I couldn’t remember typing that, but eh. Yeah. By the way, this was heavily edited, so some parts may not make sense too you, like it was way longer and had so much personal things mentioned, which I know for a fact I shouldn’t mention, nor am I open about. Also there’s probably thousands of mistakes in grammar and spelling I made.
