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I am so sorry.Could you just forget me? I actually want you to this time.
I must be bipolar or have a disorder that makes me this stupid and immature.
All I do is stuff full of nonsense and I want to die.
I push things too far.
I make my friends angry.
I never mean to but it happens.
Then I cry myself to sleep.
I know how much I mess up.
I know that I am being disrespectful.
Or I'm proud for no reason.
I know you think I'm seeking attention even though you don't tell me so.
I am just being me.
Someone who can't do anything right.
I can't breath right, talk right, walk right, think right, act right, do right.
And that's the whole reason why I hate myself.
You tell me other people would be sad if I died it possibly kill themselves too.
Truth is, none of you have the guts or care enough cause all I ever do is get angry at you or make you mad or cry or disappointed..
All I do...
All I do is
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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