I thought that seven years later I would be okay; that your death would no longer hold this extreme void over my mind, body, and soul. It seems like lately I was wrong though; I haven't been able to get you off of my mind over the last week or so. It seems as if everything I do involves you and I have been thinking about you a lot lately. I seriously wish that I could have been the one that had their life suddenly taken from them so that you could have lived a long life. Everyone loved you; recently I've felt as if no one cares about me. I feel that if I was the one that died than everyone would be living better with you here instead. That everyone would be content because their greatest friend and hero and favorite family member would be here instead of me; I just take up space and breathe air that I swear people wish I didn't.
I'm sick of fighting with everyone and having all of these crummy days. I'm sick of living this life that no matter how hard I try to change it, I can't. I'm sick of people lying to me and telling me things when in all actuality they don't give a damn about anyone but themselves. I'm sick of trying to do great things for myself and not having anyone appreciate me. I wish that I could go back in time to when I was the happiest; when I was a six year old girl who's clothes never matched and G.I. Joe's were my favorite toys; to the time where I didn't have to fret over work, school, and money. To the point where it seemed like life wasn't challenging everyone and before being skinny and pretty mattered to everyone. To that neighborhood where things didn't go wrong; where the neighborhood kids let me play in their sports games and everyone actually talked.
I'm so sick of reality and life. It seems as if I'll never be skinny enough or pretty enough for anyone. Celebrities have everything and I can barely manage to pay my damn bills on time anymore. Where all the gossip involves the people with money who can afford plastic surgery and who can look like the perfect human being. Not someone like me who is gaining weight and can't seem to do anything right. The girl who can't accept the way she looks; the girl who wants to lose ten pounds just so she can be content with her body; who knows that she'll never be perfect enough of envied enough. That girl who wants to just be normal where nothing matters to people and cliques never existed.
I want to run anyway. August and school isn't going to come soon enough.
I know this is extremely jumbled; who cares anymore.
