Overwhelmingly Average

Typical girl-next-door.

1: knock knock
2: who’s there?
1: interrupting doctor
2: interrupti…

1: heh, heh

And this spring I have learned that “working hard means you can do great things” is a lie. It’s not true. Because I have worked harder than ever before to make this spring my best season, and this is my worst season yet. It’s not fair to tell everyone that if they aren’t doing well it’s because they aren’t working hard enough, because I work hard. Don’t tell me I’m not doing well because I “don’t want it enough” or that I’m not putting in the time. Because sometimes life just happens. Sometimes you train and work hard and lose wight, only to get the flu, and then bronchitis and nearly pneumonia. Everyone wants to hear about the underdog who worked so hard and came so far and is now a shining star, and no one wants to hear about the girl who worked even harder but has nothing to show for it. No one wants to hear about reality- they just want to be fed lies to make them feel good. But the truth is no matter how much work you put in, if it was never going to happen you can’t change that. How silly of us to think that by sweating for hours and spending years on a project we can somehow convince the universe to bend for us. We put so much worth on ourselves that we fool ourselves into believing we can do anything- but we can’t. We’re limited, some more than others, but all of us are limited. Don’t tell me that I’m a failure because I accept my limitations- I’m just done being the story that never gets told. The universe only bends for the inspiring.

I laugh too hard and take every possible joke too far. Like I find myself very rude and I have no idea how I have such kind friends. I don’t deserve them; I don’t deserve to have friends.

I hate the person I have become. I used to tell myself I would never be as sarcastic as the voices that haunted me for years, and yet all I do is hide behind sarcasm; the lowest form of joking. I constantly rag on people and I hate it. I’m just not as nice and good as I use to be, I got caught in the cycle of subjecting others to what I had to deal with, but maybe I was never good inside to start with, and that’s an entirely different problem.

When you start to tell someone something that really means a lot to you and you can see in their face that they don’t care and aren’t really paying attention it just makes you feel insecure and less safe, because for me the doubts were always there but seeing the exasperation in their face just resurfaces the demons that I have fought for years to keep at bay. I promised myself that people do care, but it’s so hard to believe it when they act like they don’t. When they just want to tell you about THIER problems. When they tell you that your situation is really good and you shouldn’t complain because some people aren’t as blessed as you; but as true as that may be, even the happiest man in the world has things that tear at his soul. I guess it’s just a struggle for me to open up in the first place, and sometimes all the joking and eye-rolling really gets to me. But I suppose there is a lesson to be learned: The world doesn’t notice me or care about my ordinary insignificant life, so why should anyone else?