About me. (i have no idea if this will ever go any place. just a bit of fluff.)

About me.

I looked at the box on the form for my next new school, and shook my head wondering if anyone every put the truth in theses things. They were on every social media site and it is a popular interview question. However this was a first to encounter it on a school form and I had fill out dozen of theses in the last eight years, and there was more before I was able to fill the papers out.  We did move a lot and not all of it was do to me. However a fair amount was. At least here I would be in a different school then the others. So what to say? I would love to tell them the truth. To just lay it all out there and get it over with.

So who am I? I am a girl who’s brain is to messed up to fit into this world. I am someone who doesn’t belong. Someone who has nor purposes, but is to lazy, to scared, to do anything about it. I can not relate to people. I do not understand them, I do not feel connected to them. I am better with books and computers, better where I can have distance. I don’t want to be in the world, to be a part of it. Yet I can’t get out of it.

I am trapped by my fear and all of the cant’s in my life. I have lost the can’s. I am not.

I am a waste, a drag. I just shouldn’t be, not anymore. I have used up all my chances. There is nothing left. Yet I go on and play a game, waiting for the end. Hope each day is the last yet it keeps going.

It gets so old trying to play a part, trying to hold it together, to keep from letting those who look from seeing me. To force my self to try and look like I care. I have to wonder why I bother, why I can’t stop playing this silly game. When I can tell that I am just making it worse by trying. That it would be better if I was gone. Yet I am trapped.

I know it isn’t right, that it is the depression talking. Yet is it? What is there for me in this time? Where is there a place for one that would prefer to be able to with draw? A place for someone who can’t stand people, who hates having to talk and nod and smile. It is so hard to act. I am so tired of having to. Yet the pain just goes on and so I smile and say. “I am good and you? How was your day? Oh, I’m sorry your tired, I hope that works out for you.” and the rest of the non-since needed to look right, look well. Can’t risk them seeing me. It wouldn’t do to show what I need, after all there is enough worry as it is. No need to add more to it. Just have to keep going, keep pushing. It will work out in the end.

After all there is one thing that is sure. Life is fatale. It always ends. So no I can’t say any of that. I can’t tell them who I am. They don’t want to know me, they just want to know the fiction. But then everyone lies. It is how you get by. You say you are happy that you tied your life to someone when you wish you were flying still, not playing the perfect family. You say you are fine when you are in pain and hunting the aspirin to try and make it though another day. You don’t burden others with your problems after all they have there own stress and don’t need yours. So you make up something, grumble about minor things, so they can relate yet not worry about the real issues. That is what life is a bout. That is the dance I fail. I just. It is far easier to just say nothing, then you needn’t worry about what to say. What lie is the right one.

How I wish I could be the stereotype of a blond, bubbly, perky and a bit bubble headed. However I am not. For all it would be easier that way. And this pity party isn’t getting this paper filled out. So back to it. At least I can hold a pen that is a help. I would be totally lost without the words. They are my comfort, for all I hate spoken words.

I looked back at the paper, the last box left. So tell us about yourself. I shake my head and pick up my pen to write.