Well, I'm sitting in my room delaying homework that's due tomorrow, knowing I'll feel like hell if I don't go to bed (and getting a sick satisfaction as a result of my impending day of misery), and I can't stop all of the thoughts plaguing my mind. My roommate earlier joked with a friend that her life is a tragedy, even though she is with friends all the time, has a plan after graduation, is beautiful and skinny and eats what she wants, and has had at least two serious boyfriends. I, however, have no friends to confide in and rarely hang out with people anyway, have no idea what to do after graduating, am fat and hideous especially compared to her, and have never had so much as a casual fling (not including drunken one night stands). So if her life is a tragedy, then what the fuck is mine?
The only person that I could claim to "confide in" is my mom, but I don't tell her most things. The problem is that my mom loves the child she thinks she has. According to her, we are very alike, I am extremely cheerful, and am emotional. Uh, what? First of all, we are not alike, and even my brother will attest to that. Secondly, I am not cheerful; I pretend to be. And third, well, I don't even know how to respond to that. I try so hard not to be emotional, and I know that my emotions do wreak havoc on my life. But I think that I contain them well. I can only hope that she says I'm emotional because I'm self conscious and had a panic attack over my birthday weekend this summer...Another reason my mom and I aren't alike: she has a flare for dramatics. She worries about everything, has an irish temper, and assumes the worst or the best (depending on the situation) about everything. This summer, for example, she threatened to throw me in a mental hospital for the rest of my life to waste away all because of one weekend. Good god, woman. So clearly, I will always have a wall between us or else I will be destined for the psych ward unless my dad steps in. But you know dads; they like not to get involved.
Anyway, I can never joke about my life being a tragedy because, really, it kind of is. But it's all my own doing so I can't even bring myself to want pity, though I do feel sorry for my pathetic excuse of a human being. Life sucks; that's a fact.