I Just Don't Know Anymore

Just Something

by Anthony. J. Q.

Chapter 1

What Do I Do Now?

Sometimes I don't want to be me, be the person I've come to live as. I don't know why sometimes, because sometimes things are okay. Sometimes things are fine, or as much as they can be in this place. And sometimes I wonder what could be wrong with me. How did I grow up to be this person? What could have made me so messed up? Why can't I remember things? Why can't I feel the things I should feel?

I know a lot of people don't know the real me, to be honest no one does. Not even the person that is closest to me. I hide myself, my real self, from everyone. I'm a different person each time you see me. I don't like it, the way I am, the way I've been for some time.

I sometimes think back, to before this part of me. I try to remember the way it felt to be so carefree, innocent. And I don't like how I can't remember when the last time I was touched without feeling disgusted or have the need to run away from that person as fast as possible. I don't like how I can't remember what it feels like to trust someone, or to love someone.

Sometimes, when I'm alone, I think. I can't stand it because I think of all the things that make me who I am at the current moment. Make me who I've been for so long.

I'm good at hiding my pain, my tears and everything I feel. I try to be strong. But lately I don't know what or who I'm being strong for. And I feel so much hate for myself because I'm lost in my own mind. I can't think straight anymore. I can't concentrate. I can't show my true self to people. I'm afraid. Afraid of what, I don't know.

But that's a lie and I know it. For the most part at least. I know I'm scared of people. I'm afraid they'll hurt me, lie to me, betray me. I'm afraid they'll want a hug or a hand shake. Afraid that they'll need someone to comfort them when they're upset. I'm afraid that people want to get close to me, because for as long as I can remember I was alone. And when you add people it gets confusing. I don't like being confused.

I'm good at hiding secrets, emotions, lies. I learned early on how to cover my tracks. Clean the blade, hide the pills, cover up every cut and bruise. I know how to get by without people asking questions. That's another thing I hate, questions. I don't like it when people pry, or even ask how my day was. I don't like it cause I have to talk about myself. I hate talking about myself.

I know I'm not good at anything except being useless and worthless. I know I can't write good or draw at least decent enough. I know I'm terrible at everything I do except disappoint, annoy, anger or irritate people. I try my best at being someone else, someone my parents will be proud of, my siblings could look up to, but I'm not that person. I'm a coward. I run and I hide. I can't do anything and I always look for an escape.

That's another thing I'm good at, running away. Running away form questions, people, or things that aren't even there. I hate myself for it because I don't want to be that person. I don't want to be the person that runs away and cries when no one is looking. I want to be able to show everyone who I am. But I'm scared they'll hate me for it. My father thinks I'm tough and can handle anything. My mother thinks I'm really smart. People think I'm funny, strong, fast, smart.

I'm not. I'm none of those things. I want to be, but I'm not. I never will be. I'm always going to lie, hide and run away. Because that's what I know how to do. It's who I am and I'm afraid it's who I'll always be. And to know that no one seems to notice the lies probably hurts more than anything. I mean I'm not the easiest to read, but I'm still human and that should make it easy enough, right? I don't want to think about it, about how good of an 'actor' I've become. So good that even those who live with me everyday don't notice anything wrong with me.

I know I'm not right in the head, but I don't know what's wrong exactly. I mean yeah, everyone has a few off days when they don't feel like it's worth it anymore, but that's how I always feel. And I don't know how to stop myself from feeling these things. Sure I push them away and go on about my day with a fake smile plastered to my face. But when it's all said and done, at the end of the day when I lie awake on my bed I can't help but to think how useless it all seems. How pathetic I've become. Or how much I didn't mean anything I said.

I don't like it when I think about those things because they make my low self-esteem even lower. And it really is pathetic because I cry all by myself in my room at night, wishing that someone would at least see the pain in my eyes. But they never do. I sometimes wonder if I've gotten so good at pretending that no one even thinks they need to look after me anymore, that I can handle anything.

I can't. I'm still just a kid. I don't know who I am, what I want to be. I don't know anything. So how does anyone expect me to handle everything. I can't do it and I know it. But I can't help it when I lie to everyone just because it's easier than actually being me. I know I'm a liar, and I know I'm an idiot. But I can't help it.

It's always so much easier to smile through the pain when others are there and to cry by myself rather than having everyone see me cry and never see a smile.
It's easier for them too I'm sure, to go along with my lies and all my pretend happiness.


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