Ugly. Worthless. Never good enough.
Will it always feel this way?
I can't have any more help than I have already got. And this makes me feel so helpless. What if I do not make it out? Am I really stuck here? Have I got to a no return point? Is it too late to save myself? What can I do? Thankfully no one notices this mess inside my head. It must be the hair. It partially covers my eyes. They say eyes are the windows of soul. No one can see my eyes, no one notices what goes on with my soul. The funny thing is I don't even cry anymore because of this. I hate the girl I see in the mirror everyday. Not just her looks, but what I see through her eyes. That's nothing new. It's not worthy of my tears anymore, the story has grown old after all this time. You know something I hate too? It seems that I can't write about anything but hate. Hate this, hate that. Hate, hate, hate. That's why I draw, and that's why I play. I can't use words, so the hatred moves to a second place. It's just me and the paper, or the guitar/piano. And it's why I read. For a while I escape my world and sneak into someone else's. I learn about that someone, I understand what he goes through, and I see how he makes his way out.
Sometimes I've thought of writing down my story, but I don't even know where to start.
Besides, who likes sad endings?
