The Band Bus

***Before I get into it, the "it" deserves to be properly explained. Writing is really theraputic. The other night was really crappy for me, so I picked up my pencil and wrote. I had to think for the first few lines, but then it became almost subconscious. Reading back over it, I had to say a few times, "Woah, I have no recollection of writing that." So, it's not really written well, really. It's written with emotion. I felt loads better after doing it (actually, that's a lie, I felt worse, but feeling worse in turn made me feel better... Get it?). It's a bit long, and if you're not inclined to read it all, the last six paragraphs are really what matter. ***

I need to write. Otherwise, I think I might explode. Where to start? Heavens. I don't know. I feel again. That's nice. Granted, "feeling" means feeling incurable depressed, but it works. It's a fulfilling sadness, if there is such a thing.

I'm have a hard time coming to term with my mediocrity. My claim that I'm not smart is going to ratify itself very soon here. I'm going to get a B in physics. Of that, no doubt exists in my mind. I think it'll be relaxing, in a sense. Once perfection is shattered, I'll be fine. I'll be normal. It's not like NAU or wherever I choose to go is going to care. One B isn't much. My ACT and SAT test scores will help me out.

I'm battling. Really, I"m just rying to write to keep myself busy. Maybe eventually something meaningful will come out.

I'm a shell. I'm not what a human should be. I'm going nowhere. If I had never existed, it wouldn't change anything.

That's bullshit. Of course I mean something. My parents, my friends, my pets. They need me.

My mind's a fortress. It's faulty, though. It's formidable in fair times, but shatters when things go ill. I'm readying for a fight that will never come, making talking points for an argument I'll never have.

Fucking physics! I wasn't ready. I don't want the mirror held up to me just yet. Why do I have to be so horrible at something I love? I'm going to get a 2 on the test, I know it. I"m not smart. I'm just a shell that excretes information when called upon. I'm nothing.

Why can't I just be like everyone else? I'm sick of me. I'm tired of telling myself to take comfort in my own company. I talk too much about myself, but that's because so few ask, and there's so much I want people to know. I don't want to be a wisp anymore. I don't know what to do, though. It's all I've known. Give me a personality, give me strength, give me confidence. Just give me the building blocks of a normal person.

Give me someone to hold, someone to confide my secrets to. Friends, friends, friends, that's all there is. That's all I need, I tell myself. If that's all I need, then why is everyone else scraping and pleading for more? I'm still a child. I need to grow up. I need to be normal.

I need to cry and scream and laugh. Instead, I go through a daily pattern of pleasantness. It's a straight road. I don't want that road, damn it. I want hills! Great hills! Sweeping valleys! My spectrum varies in little shades, but I want to know what it's like to have the whole spectrum.

I can't do this, i can't do this, I can't do this. I'm alone in the dark, and I don't know what to do next. I hear you, you say you're there, too, but I can't find you. You know this place, but it wasn't this dark before.

I need someone to care. Why don't they see the one that's pleasant all the time? Do I have to be a bitch and throw a tantrum to be seen anymore? I want to reach out and love, but there's no one there to love back. I'm not sure if I can do this anymore.

Seventeen soon and never been kissed. It makes me cry. No amount of academic achievement can overshadow this fact. It's life's test, and I'm failing it. No one can know what this feels like. It's like still being at the starting line after the race has begun, or being the only one not in on the joke. It's breaking me. I need help.