I don't think you understand how hard it is to stay here when you are no longer wanted and even your own blood didn't care much whether or not you are happy today. It feels awkward at home. Everybody seems to be having a blast about everything and yet here I am, growing older feeling lesser and lesser everyday.
Unhappiness is selfish, grief is selfish. For whom are the tears? I was alone again. I think if one day I am lost, no one will try to find me. I am a burden, that's what I've been telling myself every time I caught the way my mother glimpsed at me. This is not fair. None of this is fair. I am tormented every night. Frustrated and feeling victimized every three in the morning. I can't sleep when I am unhappy. And I cried. There has not been a single days gone that I'm not crying. I think if I can get up every morning and started to see again how blue the sky is, I 'll be thankful. I want to be happy. I want to feel good about myself. To know that I exist. To feel useful...
I told my mother I am unhappy. She doesn't get it. Her voice at the end of the line as if suggesting to me that I'm just too lazy to live. If only she can see how much I worked for everything, I am sure she wouldn't said that to me. If only she know how I sleep every night with tears brimmed at every corner of my eyes, I am sure she wouldn't say that. She doesn't understand how frustating it is to walk from one door to another door and seen them shut right in front of your eyes. She doesn't understand me. No one ever did. Maybe I am being selfish now. Maybe this unhappiness is selfish. Yes,maybe.
I don't understand. What does the world want of me?
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