I've been staring at my wall for half an hour trying to find something to hold on to. The closest thing I've got are some notes and drawings, and even that seems pathetic. Notes from my friends are going to keep me here? Mmm. Time to re-evaluate your life, Amanda.
And that's precisely what I have been doing. For the last year now, I've been trying so desperately to find something I could live for. I've come close, but never achieved, so obviously I have not come close enough.
My best friend talks quite often about how he believes himself incapable of finding a happy ending.
I've been thinking about that. If he can't have a happy ending, what hope is there for me?
It's a recurring theme, you see. My other best friends, they are easily the most beautiful girls I know. Each of them thinks herself repulsive.
If they're ugly, then where in the fuck does that leave me? Hm? What the fuck am I? Because I know I'm not pretty. I'm not even mildly attractive. I don't say this in an attention-seeking teenaged girl sort of way, either, I mean I've looked at myself objectively for hours and hours and hours in mirrors. Studying myself. Seeing how ugly I am.
Amanda the eternal optimist... able to find the good in everyone but herself.
Twelve months spent trying to find something to hold on to. What am I now?
Empty-handed.
Sometimes I try so hard to communicate with the people around me... but I have never been so good at being straightforward. When something is wrong, I have incredible difficulty telling people without them asking first.
I don't even know why I'm explaining this right now. I mean, really, what's the point?
That's what it all comes down to, isn't it?
What I'm trying to say is, I don't really want to be alive anymore.