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You wake up and it is still dark. Dark shadows are creeping all over your room. You sleepily turn to read the alarm clock you put next to your ear, despite the fact it once almost strangled you to death. 2 am. Far too early. You sit there, your own thoughts pushing you back into sleep. Every hour, this happens, until it is 5 am, and you seem to not be able to fall asleep, even though you are very tired. You sit there, and watch every minute pass, until 6 am, when your alarm startles you. Why would it? You turn it off, and turn onto your back and stare at the ceiling. Why should you get up? What is there that you will wake up for? POV: YOU'RE ME
(IDRK WHY I AM DOING THIS
I NEEDED TO WRITE IT DOWN SOMEWHERE
PLUS IT HELPS MY WRITING SKILLS); Eventually, your mom walks into the room and makes you sit up. She leaves, and you take out your retainer and stretch for your ankle. You run downstairs and help pack lunches. Then, you eat breakfast and run upstairs. You contemplate on today's outfit. Cute? Edgy? Or vintage? You select faded jeans and a sweatshirt. You seem to be satisfied, ignoring your brain... "you look hideous...what are you doing... Just drop the act, you're ugly..." You shake the negative feelings off and get ready. You try to wake up your sisters, but they howl at you like alpha wolves. You rush downstairs, and wait. And wait. That's right, your mom is late again. Fun. Eventually, you do get to school. You slowly walk to the door, but start picking up the pace when the kind ladies that monitor the kids open the door for you. You even fake a smile, even though obviously no one will see it. See? Not that hard! You thank them and walk to a desk, where your friend is too engrossed in her work to talk to you. That's okay. You should probably study. The problem is, you're done with all your work. Eventually, you can go to your locker, and when you get there, you put your coat in it and stare at it longingly, wishing you could hide in it forever. You hear someone calling your name, and there is a friend of yours, asking what class you have first today. "French," you say, rolling your eyes. You decide to try and loosen up, reach out, and all the girls gather into a pack and talk, but the girls are too interested in chatting with your friends. What is wrong with you? Is it your legs? Your glasses? Your hair? You run into French class, and you see him. Yes, like your friend, you too have someone you watch for, and you know exactly why. You do not know why you are like this, yet you wish he'd just glance your way. Soon, hours have passed and it is lunchtime. You sit with your usual group, freezing on the curb. You say hi to your friends you are closest with, and they say hi, but walk to the other side of the curb, where your friend who acts like the leader is. It is sad she's changed since 6th grade, but you shouldn't complain. This group took you in when you had nothing. You should tolerate the ignorance and unkind words. Besides, they're not that bad. When you get home, you get ready for dance. You rush to ballet, all happy because perhaps you will improve. However, the teacher seems to target you today, due to the fact numerous people are missing. She corrects you on your knees that never seem to be straight, but as you figure out how to do it you think to yourself, "Why here? Why now? Why today? You had five years to tell me this, which I could have improved then, but you were too busy centering the kids in competition!" Naturally, you try to explain why you keep getting corrected to yourself, but you start wondering why this woman hates you so much. Is it your shape? Your hair? Your skin? Your glasses? It's the glasses, isn't it? After an hour and a half of torture, you go through an hour long class, but despite the fact it is a fun class, when partnering comes up, you are the partnerless one! Congratulations! Finally, it is the last class, an hour long. You had a 30 min break to put yourself together, but judging on the growing pain, this was not enough. Today, the pain is different. You feel something squeezing at the insides of your ribs and stomach, not allowing you to breathe. When you finally make it through and go home, you feel as if you need to puke and rush to the bathroom, but nothing comes out. Little do you know, the next morning this squeezing pain will rip at your insides the whole day. But back to the present: You lie back in bed, realizing how over 18 hours have passed since you laid down here, not moving. You drift off to sleep, wondering what is wrong with you. Wondering how you could be better...
