I hate my family. My brother blasts the same five seconds of video on the tv at maximum volume over and over again. I think he gets off on it in whatever way a 16 year old guy with the mentality of a six/seven year old can have. My mother told me he's just trying to get attention. I think not.

My mother does not care for anyone but herself. At the dinner table, it's like a competition of how little she can eat. There's no joy in eating. She's always the first one to finish. Always the one tell my brother that he's fat, that he should stop eating. When she finishes eating before I do, it's like saying "you eat a lot". When she has nothing better to say to me, she asks what I ate. Guess she might want to judge how fat I'm going to be. She's horribly insensitive too. My dad's been working 7 days a week 8+ hours a day and she makes no effort for the house to be quiet after 9pm so my dad can sleep more than 5 hours. No consideration for others. Doesn't care about anyone but herself and her little friend's flattery.

My dad plays no role in my life except the money provider. No one in my family can tell you what my favourite colour is, my goals in life, favourite tv show or anything personal about me.

But I feel the need to be perfect so they can feel like they have the perfect family. Not the type of family to be like, "I feel sad. So sad I want to kill myself."

I just want their approval. I want to be acknowledged. I want to be loved and held precious. I want them to accept me even if I'm not perfect, not good enough, never good enough. No, I'll never be good enough. Marks are never good enough because I don't have a job lined up. Because I'm not your over achieving child with scholarships, impressive resumes and summer jobs lined up.

I can't be perfect, but I feel like the teachers at school want me to be perfect. I have two years to learn to be perfect. You need to be perfect on the job. Make no mistakes. Your career cannot afford mistakes. Perfection is a horrible, horrible word indeed.

Because I'm not perfect. Far from it. I break at the slightest pressure.

Life isn't a romance story. There's no one to push you to the ground when you try to jump. People will do nothing but stare. Be annoyed that they'll be late for school/work/where ever they need to be.

I wish I smoked. I wish I did drugs. I wish I drank until my liver hated me. I wish I had something to take me away. Take my mind off things. Take me away from it all. Whore myself to live because then I'd be useful to someone. Make them feel good. My goal in life would be to live to the next day. That's simple. Simple-no-real-thinking-involved kind of nice.

omg. I swear, I'm going to break soon. Tons of self-loathing, self-hatred, horribly depressed kind of thing going on. Ate way too much chocolate today (not good for my diet). Gawd, I feel like killing myself badly. If only I had the courage to do so. I read a story the other day where a character tried to, with a razor and I felt...envious of that character. It takes courage to try to hurt yourself.

It's amusing when I tell the boy I feel depressed and his response is, "is there anything I can do?" Interestingly, the answer in my mind is always, "please kill me."

In a way, I'm too old for these feelings. I'm not some angsty teenager anymore. Yet, they've haunted me for what seems like forever. I still don't like people. I still don't understand normal society. I don't fit into my class. I don't feel like I fit in anywhere.

Everytime the subway comes to the station, there's this wonder that blossoms within me asking what it would feel like to jump. Everytime I wait at the bus stop and a car passes, I wonder what it would be like to jump in front of it. Yet, I haven't gathered the courage to do it. Silly, really.

What would it be like to put myself out of this misery that we call living?