What I Want to Tell

I’ve come around because everything has become too much. All I do is work all day to save meager wages that will do me no good. I come home tired to start my homework so that maybe I can earn a bit more cash someday. That’s my life: nowhere else to go, nothing else to do, no other purpose.

No, life isn’t about being adored, but all day, every day, everyone I come across looks down their noses at me and thinks I’m dumb, weird- just an all around loser. Even my mom. Each day ends and I cry because they’re right, they know me immediately. They can treat me how they want, though, I’m only a paper pusher hired out of pity through an employment program.

I try so hard to earn just one friend to talk to, yet for years now I’ve had none. What’s more, I yearn for intimacy, but by sobering day I must accept that no one would want me; no one would settle with me when they could have anyone else. I envy the beautiful, simply normal guys and girls on the buses and streets who can share a human connection and spend their good years with some joking and smiling.

Not quite twenty, yet the family doctor already likens my health to a middle aged man’s, and gives me a drug so my constant upset doesn’t “age” me more. I only want and plot to punctuate this life with my blood smeared on the train tracks, and end the nightmare.