I'm unhappy, Mom. How hard is that to say? Not that hard. I say it all the time. I say it to the mirror, to my pillow. I say it to myself at night when I'm having trouble sleeping (which, by the way, has been every night since who knows when.). I'm unhappy. I try to say it to her face, his face, their faces--but I can't. For some reason, when I'm in a bad way (and believe me, I am in a bad way)my friends and my mom will try to talk to me to make it all better. They'll ask me what's wrong and for some reason, I can say everything but that I am unhappy. I can't say that I am basically miserable every single day of my life. Why is that? I have no trouble telling myself that everyday when I wake, on the ride to school, as I'm going to class, sitting in class, sleeping in class, eating lunch or breakfast or dinner. I say it all the time. Sometimes, I even shout it out. I say, "I feel as if I'm not good enough. I feel like I'm stupid. I am stupid. I'm gross and I'm ugly and I'm mean and it is perfectly understandable as to why it is nobody likes me or wants to spend time with me. I'm a miser in the most obsolete sense of the word. I am obsolete. Nobody needs me; everyone would be better off without me. I can't see the point in living anymore. I can't see the point in working my ass off for teachers who don't care just so that I can go to a good, decent college and work my ass off their for professors who don't care, so that I can get a well-paying job working for a boss who doesn't care, just so that I can die surrounded by people who don't give a damn." And yet, for some reason, even as I'm saying this, I just can't get up the nerve to say that hey, guys, I'm just generally unhappy and I want someone to make it all better because I don't know how to do that on my own. I've been trying and it hasn't been working, so somebody, please, come help me fix this, this thing that is wrong with me because I'm broken and I'm sick of it. My friends and my mother aren't very good at reading between the lines. My best friend (the dear that he is) pulls me into a strong, assuring hug every time I break down and yet, he still says (subtlety, of course)that I am not good enough for him. My "sister" (we're so close that it seems that she is an extension of my soul)tells me that I'm too overly dramatic and makes me feel like a complete idiot for worrying (because that certainly helps my self-confidence). Another one of my closest friends is basically perfect--so why can't I be like that?

Am I so despicable that I make people want to completely forget my existence? Seriously, I want to know. How come when I say that I feel stupid and inept, no one tells me that I'm smart and that I'm great the way I am. I'm always doing something wrong. I wish it would stop. It's really beginning to kill me. I wish it would stop.

No matter how many times I try to tell myself that all of it isn't true, it's like there is this cruel, hateful little voice whispering in my ear telling me that I'm stupid and gross and ugly and inept and incapable and worth absolutely nothing. I believe I've heard it called "the Demon Lord" in a graphic novel. I wish it would shut up. I tell it to everyday all day, it seems. But it won't and I want it to.

I want to be smarter and more athletic. I want a cool job where I make good money so that I can buy the things that I want. I want a lot.

I'm sick of never having any money. I'm sick of watching everybody else do well. For just once, I wish that they would all just fail. I know it's mean, but I can't help it. My head just won't shut up. It's that Demon Lord doing his thing again. Maybe I just need an exorcism.

My heart hurts. My head hurts. I'm dizzy. I'm nauseous. I'm tired. I'm sick and I'm totally sick of being sick. It's like there's always something wrong with me. I'm damn tired of it.

My friend and I like the same guy. She'll get him. She's sweet like that. I'm just a bitch. The bitch never gets anything she wants. She always finishes last. That's just what I'm doing. I was going to ask him to prom, but I don't want to be a bitch anymore. So I'm going to step back and let her have him. But I hate it. I hate her to. No I don't. Yes I do. I don't know. Actually I do. I love her because she is one of my closest friends. I could never hate her. Really, I just hate myself.