For months I have been dying for someone, anyone to say those three little words to me: Are you okay?
Regardless, even if they did, I would probably lie. Because am I okay? I myself do not know. I’m fifteen years old, I have many friends, take five honors classes, come from a privledged family, am somewhat popular, and am on the school poms squad. What right do I have to be sad, worthless, and alone? What right do I have to hate my life when so many other in this world are starving, misunderstood, or homeless? What right to I have to consider suicide when there are innocent, happy people dying every second? People who would give anything to live. People whose families and loved ones would give anything to have them live?
What right do I have?
Questions like these plague my mind constantly. My mind is consistently a tornado, thoughts spinning and crashing, making me dizzy. Perhaps it’s just stress. Or is it something more? Do I have a mental problem? Am I depressed?
I have no right to be, as I explained before. But I just don’t know… Maybe I’m just dramatic. Maybe I’m just dramatic. I constantly crave the attention of others. I imagine death a gratifying. I imagine my friends and family crying over my body at my funeral. Is this wrong?
At the same time, I know that, if I died, I would be so easily replacable. My best friend has so many best friends, I would be replaced in a snap of the fingers. My friends think that I am clingy and needy, which is of course true. And do you really think that my classmates would think about me in a year? Of course not. I’ve drifted so far apart from my family that even they don’t notice the difference when I am out with my friends or secluded in my room. I am worth nothing. One death would not change the world. The world does not care.
I feel worthless and stressed on a daily basis. I feel lonely in a crowded room. I feel that the thoughts inside my head are not the thoughts that the average teenager has. Mine are deep and frightening. I feel that no one likes me. No guys do, that’s for sure. 15 and I’ve never been kissed. I just know my friends think I am annoying. I can not even explain how much I cry. I cry when I am angry. I cry when I’m sad. I cry when I’m stressed. I cry for no reason at all. Crying, however, does not mean depression. Does it?
On the other hand, I have days when I am perfectly normal. Days where I go to bed happy. In fact, I was sobbing moments before I wrote this. Now I am perfectly calm. It seems unfair for me to ask for help, because I do not need it. Why would I need it? Deep inside I am probably just being dramatic. Besides, asking for help would ruin my charade of being the happiest girl on the planet. Asking for help would mean I am not perfect.
Thank you to all the people who have read this, although I doubt anyone will. If you do, I appreciate you listening. It feels amazing to have someone listen.
I will continue to let my thoughts torture me. I will continue to despise myself more than anyone I know. I will continue to put on that happy face day after day. I am fine. That’s what I would say if someone asked me that question I desire: Are you okay? I am fine.