Im-Not-Crazy-I-Swear

Liza Deep, navy blue encased my thoughts. I buried my face into my hands. Why must this be so hard? Why can't I just be normal? Everything is so fucking difficult. I hate it! I hate it! I hate it! Why? Why me? Why can't it be one of the other girls, who are much stronger than me.Why do, I, of all people have to deal with all of this?! I wish I could end this. I would love to, but trust me, I've tried. Silent sobs escaped my lips. Fuck it. I don't need this. Thinking about it is only going to make it worse. I need to act. I stood up. My arms and legs were trembling with anxiety. I can't handle this! I need something more than this. My face

Most stories begin with a damsel in distress and with prince charming swooping in to save the day.Where is reality? Where is the girl whose father left when she was eight, never to return? Where is the gay teenager who kills himself because of a homophobic retort? Where is the girl who thinks she is fat because of an ad she saw on television and then vomits up her guts into the crapper every night? They are stuck in reality. Like the rest of us. Reality is the place where princesses don't ever find their knight in shining armor, and where there is never a "happily ever after." Reality is sadly, where I reside. Yep. Me. The "fat, emo, faggot