My life’s a joke.

I’m not saying that because I’m contemplating suicide, no. I’m way past my ‘emo, time to cut wrist’ stage. I said it because that’s how I’ve felt about my life for a very long time now. I don’t even know anymore. It’s not easy, let me tell you. I sort of grew up by myself, mostly because my parents separated when I was around, 8, I didn’t have a mother there to raise me during the times I needed her the most, and since living stably meant having to live with my dad, who only came home to change out of last night’s clothes and take off again.

I grew up with no real guiding light so I pretty much had to make things up as I went along. Sure, now and again they both [my parents] pop up to remind me that I have parents - sort of but not really - because they give me like, five minutes of their time and take off again. That’s not the point though. Because of that, I guess, I grew up…differently.

Which leads me to another reason that I feel like total shit majority of the time - I never feel like I quite…belong. I mean really, growing up in a messed up home, never seeing your parents, having a helper not more than three years older than yourself ‘take care’ of you, yeah, feeling like you don’t belong even at home is total shite. A friend of mine would’ve given them the, ‘not fit to reproduce’ badge, had she known this.

Then came the bane of my existence, first year high school. I had a boyfriend, yeah. That messed me up even more. I was first year that time and I was pretty sure that my heart wasn’t ready for it, stupid beating thing was  just really, really lonely. I don’t even know why, but I ‘loved’ the guy. I did, but I’m guessing that was the beginning of the end. I was such a kid; impulsive, and loads naive. That gave way to all that is defining the train wreck that is my life right now.

The rumors started, God knows I really didn’t expect the that one of the people I trusted the most (at the time) would backstab me like that. Like I said, naive. Then again, best friends is eleven letters. So is backstabber. The rumor mill was out of control. From, getting drunk in her house, to having sex with her crush in the third year, yeah, I’d say that was extremely exaggerated and I don’t get how anyone could even believe that, but OK. One of the rumors that really amused me was that we were bankrupt, my mother became a laundry lady, and my dad became a driver. I had a laugh. Yes bitch, my mother does wash her own lingerie, if that’s what you’re saying, and my dad does drive his own bloody car, so…yeah.

Once all that was over though, the damage had already been done, and there was no changing what happened to my reputation afterwards. School slut. Come second year when I thought it was all over, it started again, on the first fucking day back to school.

Life, love? They aren’t complicated, I guess. They’re simple enough, but people? People are complicated. Really, complicated.

Anti-depressants. They don’t actually work. I’ve been medicated with those for four, almost five years now and nothing changed. You actually just end up feeling worse than you did before you took them after the effects of the drug subsides. I’m sick and tired of people thinking that I’m fine. I’m not, OK? I’m not. I smile, I joke around a lot, I offer loads of failtroll sarcasm and I definitely laugh a lot, but I’m not OK, and I haven’t met anyone who’s ever seen past that. Ever.

It’s funny. I’m writing this on tumblr where someone MIGHT see it, but I never talk about this. I’d change the topic or do whatever is possible to keep off this track. I really, really hate remembering this. Though I guess it’s time to take my own advice. Face it. Don’t keep running away from it. I can never talk about this out loud because I know not everyone will understand. I guess writing it down is sort of facing it, right? Don’t answer that. Just don’t.

Everything just really started to suck a lot more during second year. I received my first failing grade in my life, and I guess I just…broke down. It was first quarter, and I’d gotten a 75 in Filipino. So I guess I didn’t actually fail, but still. It was the worst grade I’d ever received in my life. Not too long after that I started skipping school a lot, I swear, I was barely there, and Lord knows I’d much rather sleep my day away than sit in a classroom full of people I hate. Same with this year, really. Just add a bitchy, OC teacher.

I’m scared of loving people. I’m really, really scared. I hate letting my walls down and sharing a piece of me with people who I know are just going to leave. Everyone leaves. I haven’t met anyone who’s stayed. Not yet. I’m scared of giving my all and knowing that it’ll never be reciprocated.

Oh by the way, yeah. I just came to terms with the reality that my father is gay. I’m no homophobic, but it was a big disappointment on my part. He never actually admitted that, but I know. I just do. Not only that, my dad is a huge drunk. That’s why whenever there is anything that has anything to do with school, or my dad meeting anyone that can possibly ruin me and my already ruined reputation, I never tell him about it. This would’ve all been easier if I had a mom.

I’ve always been told that my parents are only there to support me, and I could do whatever the fuck I wanted to do. That’s stupid. They tell you that and when you tell them you want to be a rock star playing shows for a crowd and being in Warped Tour, they tell you to be quiet and think of a real job.

They tell you to do what makes you happy, to hone your talents, and then when you start making music and playing an actual instrument, they diss you and tell you that you’re probably better off doing something else because there is no money in the things you just so happen to enjoy.

My life’s a sham.

I’ve always felt an all-encompassing need to escape. I’m writing this, in a place an entire night’s boat ride from my hometown, where for some reason, though it is not home, I feel at ease. I feel like I could be myself and no one would care. I feel like a totally different person for some reason, almost like I could start over so easily here. It’s probably because no one here knows who I am and starting over would be easy. Recreate my life. Do it all again, in a place where no one is watching you. No one is glaring at you because they believed false rumors. Where I could just…be me.

Which leads me to the grand conclusion of this entire post, I realize, after reading all the words up there, more times than I could count with my fingers, I’ve never accepted myself. I’m confused, and I’m sick of fighting, sick of resisting, but at the same bloody time, I don’t want to give up.

I know not everyone ever  has it easy in life. But can you blame me for wanting that all to change? No? Yeah, I didn’t think so.