Nothing has really changed the past few years. My vocabulary has expanded and my hair has grown six inches. My taste in music has evolved into something I'm not embarrassed of anymore. My taste in clothing and my appearance have started to matter. I still look at the girl with the pretty blue eyes at school, and I still am reminded of her. I smoke cigarettes now, but I suppose that was inevitable. Smoking runs in my family. I can hear my father coughing from the kitchen. I brush my teeth like a maniac. I take several showers. When I wash my hair, I'm concerned that my hair is falling out. I buy hair loss products. My looks are making me feel important. I really screwed up my grades last semester, and I'm trying as hard as I can to bring them back up this semester. College is becoming important again. I obtained my driver's license when I turned sixteen. I watched an R-rated movie when I turned seventeen. I will purchase cigarettes and commit suicide inside of a strip club when I turn eighteen. I wear bracelets to make myself look unique. I say things to get a girl's attention, even though I don't really mean them. She's very cute. I think the girl in my Chemistry class is very cute. She's always laughing. I do sit-ups and try to quit smoking to impress her.

Is this sounding familiar?

I tried to cry last night, but it seems as though I've become emotionless. Passive. Apathetic towards nearly every aspect of my life. I tried to cry, and for a few seconds my eyes watered, but my body fell asleep before anything more could happen. I thought of the most depressing things in my life. Teresa telling me that she didn't love me anymore and that she questioned if she even did at all, like she only stuck around because she felt obligated to. Past crushes I've had that ended up with me in heartache, me in my bed crying, me punching bruises into my body. Times when old friends made me feel worthless and that I didn't belong. The loneliness that I feel nearly every day. The times I look at my life and realize I'm doing absolutely nothing. The way I'm becoming more and more like the part of my father I absolutely hate. My grandfather dying when I was ten years old - the man who raised me. Not wanting to ask her to Prom because I know what she's going to say and how my relationship with her will be after that. Never wanting to take a chance like that again. And again, Teresa telling me she didn't love me. I didn't cry though. My eyes got wet, but I didn't cry. I felt pain for a few seconds, but then it went away.

I don't know why I tried to make myself cry. Maybe part of me wants to go back to the worthless, depressed person that I was. Maybe I miss those days, because those were the days that I knew what and who I was. Now I have no idea. Maybe it's because I actually was used to being depressed. I became accustomed to it. Maybe it's because I actually had hopes and dreams of the future. Now I don't know what I want. Does that make any sense? Wanting to go back to something that I've hated for so long? I don't know. I don't know who I even am anymore. I am just a slave of society, buying shit I don't need so that the American economy will stay strong and a rich man's stock portfolio will go up a fraction of a point. Sometimes I wish the stock market would just crash. Then everyone would be screwed, including those goddamn day traders. I'm getting off topic here. The point is that, as people, we need destruction and a problematic environment to evolve. To better ourselves.

Shift tones here.

I turned seventeen about a week ago. I didn't really tell anyone, since my birthday has never been that big of a deal to me, and whenever I get depressed about it, I go into the bathroom, look myself in the mirror, spash my face with cold water, and tell myself that everything is okay and that it doesn't really matter. My father called me on my way home and he started singing happy birthday in an exceedingly vivacious fashion. Of course I kind of ignored him and asked what he wanted. He said that he just wanted to wish me a happy birthday, and then proceeded to hand the phone to my mother. I don't really know what happened next, except that my parents were working that night, and we never really celebrated my birthday. A few days ago my mother asked me if I was mad at my father. I replied, "No, why would I be?" And she said, "Well, he said he tried to wish you a happy birthday and you just ignored him." I felt kind of sad when she told me that, and I felt sorry for my father since I really do treat him badly sometimes. I've always had this sort of grudge against him for the most part of my life. He used to gamble and hit my mom and stuff like that. I don't really want to talk about it actually. Not now, anyway. But really, he is a good father. I just don't like him sometimes. I remember standing there naked in the bathroom, about to take a shower. I was about ten or so, and I had just gotten done playing with my sister outside. I think we were playing with a hose or something. I don't really remember what happened except that I had laid the towel inside so my sister could sit on it and dry off, but something got wet. My dad yelled at me to open the door and I stood there naked. And I cried. And he slapped me across the face and he yelled and he left. And I think an hour or so later he asked me for some money so he could go gamble. Fuck, I don't want to be talking about this.

I just need a cigarette and some strawberry ice cream. Teresa, we're almost eighteen.

cya.

-george