I'm Awfully Off

Sometimes I can't help but hate myself, and more often then not, my life.

And sometimes self-insecurity will hit me like a brick wall, and I'll just kinda of freeze and look at all of the coolly dressed, confident, attractive people that flow around my frozen stance, the literal pebble in a stream. They have friends. They have a happy life, at least to some extent.

And so do I! I'm not claiming not to have friends, or a decently happy life. Just. . . Just all of my friends (or at least a good number of them) are virtual. And many, if not all attempts on my behalf to change that fact, merely do the opposite of it's intentions, and result in my being more alone then ever.

I'm a pimply, somewhat chubby, extremely awkward and self-conscious teenage girl. I'm not going to pull some melodramatic bullshit and claim that I'm the only person in the entire world whose ever been faced with this kind of a predicament, or the singular person in the universe with interest in x, y and z. I know there are people who are very similar to me.

That doesn't help any, of course.

This whole evening has been a bit tense and stressful for me, for basically no actual reasons whatsoever. Or at least, no legitimately good reasons for me to be so freaked. I mean, yeah, I had the most stressful cooking experience in my pathetic few years of life, but still. I'm just upset and confused and stressed and looking back at old times when I've also been upset and confused and stressed. And that half of a cookie is staring up at me from a stranger's plate and holy crap, 2% milk is basically disgusting.

Ha.

And I used to wonder why no one ever happens upon this blog?

I really ought to update the banner. "Warning: Below are the frazzled thoughts of an insane teenage girl. Carry on only if you're suicidal."

I paint myself as such a martyr, but I'm really nothing more then a whiner.

I think I'm just going to do school until I graduate. Then I'll graduate college. Then I'll buy an apartment, buy a laptop and never come out.

I will just stay there and write. I will write letters to my family, I will write blog posts (probably to this very same blog, unless blogger dies somewhere between the years it takes for me to achieve all this) that no one will read, (and I'll like it that way) and I will write stories. I will write scripts for movies, children's books, teen novels, adult mysteries.

I will come up with a non d'plume, as my Aunt keeps insisting I do, and write, write, write.

There's some amazing, mindblowing John Green quote out there- from "An Abundance of Katherines", that I can't remember perfectly, but basically it's something along the lines of "Everything eventually submits to oblivion. Stories are the only things that remain."

And because writing is one of the very few things I selfishly consider myself to be good at, and because I have a fear of oblivion, and because I don't like "socializing in the real world", I am going to write stories.

God the mere idea of that is so blissfully beautiful I could cry.

But because this is "real life", I'm just going to end up a Target bagger.