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Hit and Run

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Essay title: Hit and Run

JANUARY 1, 2007

It’s like I’m dead. But I’m not, I guess I’m just dead to my surroundings or everyone is just trying to make me feel that way. I walk through the crowed halls at my school, no one turns a head, no one smiles, it’s like I’m walking through a bunch of ghosts, or am I really the ghost? There are so many questions that I try to answer in the back of my head while I’m taking these steps to home room. Everyone usually feels sorry for the person who has no friends or is considered a freak. Not in my case, no one ever talks to me, so I never talk to them. I am what you would consider a nobody, a freak, a loner. Yet really I’m none of those, because no one even knows my name.

People call it the New Year, a new year to change things you don’t like about yourself. Yet it’s really hard for me to do that, because I don’t even think I know myself. All I know is that I go to school get good grades, except in math, run cross country, go home, wash my hands, do my homework, and lay in bed, I never actually fall asleep. My parents say I have a problem, a mental one. I say it’s because I’m related to them. They’ll never understand me, and I’ll never understand them, that’s just the way it’s going to be. They have to deal with it, even if they say they can’t.

JANUARY 2, 2007

I’m hesitating. I can’t feel a thing. I took something this morning. I can’t tell a soul, even though there is no one to tell. I look down the hall to first period. Seems like there’s three miles between me and the door, like I’m running a race. Breath I tell myself, just breath, stop thinking, just breath. I’ve made it, to my destination, if you call it a destination in itself. The school day is such a blur to me, nothing merely interesting. Same thing everyday, no one speaks to me, no one looks at me, nothing. My eyes hurt; I’m staring too hard at something, or someone in that matter. The only good thing about being ignored is that you can do stuff and people won’t notice but if you were normal, people would notice in a minute. I’m still staring, yet my thinking has stopped. Oh shit, he’s staring back. I’ll keep staring, maybe he has no idea, maybe he is just looking right through me, as so everyone does. “Hi” I just want to say, I open my mouth…nothing happens. Oh well, there’s always tomorrow. Or this might be the end of keeping it.

JANUARY 3, 2007

Here we are again, the same place, same time, different date. I did something last night. It hurt. When the blood ran down, it was just like nothing, merely existing, like myself. Yet my eyes still got warm and it started streaming down. Now I have something to show as an example of self mutilation. People say it might be wrong, people might say they enjoy it, people might not even know what I’m talking about. All I know is that, it’s out of boredness, when the tears just dry up and there’s nothing to think about, it happens. Just like this.

JANUARY 4, 2007

How are you to tell someone something’s important to you, but you can’t because you have to please the other one? When you really want them to say “don’t wait, just tell me all about it.” How are you to speak when you open your mouth and then nothing comes out? Are you comprehending anything anyone shows, or says? Or are you just doing the “he said, she said?” All I want is that one person, to listen to me cry. Then I could see someone else cry, see there face get red, there eyes warm with water, it all coming down. I dream so much, daydream and night dream is more like it. I never sleep, ever. I only comprehend clips and phrases in those dreams. I’ve always wished that I could be normal. But I really am, its just no one can find me.

JANUARY 5, 2007

Last night I thought about something. I want someone to take my picture, I probably won’t remember much. I just want someone to focus on me for a mere instant, I want to feel it. Feel eyes on me, feel the camera looking for my right angle, feel the flash make my eyes blink. I want it to pick up all my faults, the pours in my face, the plastic perfection everyone tries to achieve. But I guess you get what you give. In that case, I get nothing. I guess I’m just a dreamer in a world of reality.

JANUARY 6, 2007

It’s silent. The room is dark. My lungs collapse, I’m gasping for air. My body is cold, but everything around me feels like it’s on fire. It’s happening again, the sensation, the pain, the satisfaction to my body. I’m yelling, “Someone wake me up,” no one answers. I’m all alone. I’m shaking, trying

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