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I'm not looking forward to my sixteenth birthday.
Something about this year, has broken me. I'm not too sure what exactly. Well -- to say the truth, I know exactly what it was -- who it was -- but I do not have the courage to admit it. Since the last time I've been here, I had been in the process of breaking down, slowly decaying as things that I valued so much began to crumble under my feet. The things I tried to fix in my hands simply turned to sand running through my fingers. I have never felt such a multitude of emotions in a single year. Or day. Or week. Or month. The span of time that I witnessed this year has become a blur.
The people I call friends used me. The people I called friends to who I sought refuge just end up bluntly. The people I wish I still had as friends are gone. One of them I had scared away. Family is a soiled sheet, now stained with the aftertastes of my prior shortcomings. I don't look forward to my sixteenth birthday.
It's supposed to be a celebration of my existence. My being, by the people who appreciate my presence. I'm not sure if anyone will be there. I might be forced to encounter people I have hurt and feel ashamed of, people I wish I still knew, people I thought I knew to help me that naively stumble across to sway it. And the one person that I fear being there most, I must say, is myself. Because I would like to think I don't deserve that kind of suffering in memories anymore. I would like to think that perhaps my trials are finally over. My birthday is supposed to be of joy. Of laughter. Of friends and family and food and drink. I -- remember the last birthday party I was at. I am so afraid of the time that the same incident will happen again.
My grades have dropped significantly. Not because of difficulty, but of lack of will to do better. My optimism is shattered. The things that made me happy are gone. The only option is in sorrow. I tried to sacrafice my hobbies in art to better myself with the people I thought I could love. It was an unfair bargain. Where did it start? Nine months. When did it finalize? When I said I hated the people that cared about me. What was the result?
There is no incentive to live.
Everything has changed for me. I never thought that the people I loved so much could turn to such shame, guilt, hatred, disgust, regret, and sorrow. Not to me, but somehow for me. My days are simply routine blurs. Sleep, toil, regret, toil, regret, toil, regret, sleep. It's an endless process. How cruel is it to have the people you now wish you never had to see again celebrate your existence? How much I wish I had never had done. How much I wish I still had. Forgive me.
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| | Posted 5/5/2006 11:39 PM - 1 view - 3 comments
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