Hands up who hates themselves!
I don't know if you're gone or you're just biding your time, waiting to see how many people care. You may be sat at home right now, timing how long it takes me to pluck up the courage and call....or you could be lying in a morgue. The worst part is not knowing.
'Ladies and Gentlemen, just a quick announcement to remind you that we still have our three for the price of two special offer on pot plants, but hurry! Sale ends tomorrow!'
'What? No harry, you can't have any more sweets! You had three easter eggs at easter and....no, you can not have a spider man mask...or a stretch-a-man....or a....'
'Oi, joe, can you buy me a coke, I spent all my money in WHSmiths....aw, please?? You can have some! Cheers...'
Woken from my daze as somebody knocks my right shoulder, sending me spinning toward the shelves of overpriced chocolate and hurries off dragging a bewildered child in their wake.
Being stepped around by girls that are all trying just a little too hard with their short skirts and powdered faces, all staring at me like I'm some kind of trapped animal. Staring at me as someone that obviously hasn't tried hard enough - yesterday's eyeliner, static hair that refuses to hide behind my hood, hands dug deep into my pockets as I scratch at the sides of my fingers where no one can see.
My feet are like stone, and I'm unable to move them, unable to get myself out of this goddam shop and into the sunlight. But the voices of people I recognize, of people I know but don't know my name seems to lift the weights on my feet and I hurredly stumble behind a stack of boxes. I don't want to be here, I didn't ask to be here, but most of all I didn't want them to see me. I would've crawled under one of the dusty shelves if I thought people wouldn't have noticed.
Then I go home, stare in the mirror, look at photos of people I know and realise just how repulsive I am, realise that I lack purpose and meaning. I feel the guilt shroud me and flick open my lighter and punish myself for all these things.
I feel no better after the lighter, and the blade, I feel no relief, so I come here, I write for you. For the 2 or 3 people that will read this and think 'wow, she finally figured it out, she's so right. And what's worse, she can't even write anything decent!'. But here I am, showing you anyway, telling you how productive my day's been, hoping that maybe someone will not take pity but bring me back down to earth and give me some words of motivation to help me move my feet of stone.
*...All the possibility and promise just weighs on me so heavily...*