My name is Unimportant; I'm 14 and am
a freshmanthis year,
which means I’m the Class of 2016.
I graduated middle school just this June,
as the Class of 2012, and I am so glad to
be out. Middle school was hell, and
high school's a different expirience,
which is definately a good thingJ
I want to talk about my friends. Every single
one of them is absolutely beautiful in every way, in their own way. Inside
and out, right-side-up and upside-down.
I don’t have many friends, but I’m very close
to the few I have; I’d rather have 4
quarters than 100 penniesJ
I love sports- I play on a travel softball team, so tournaments, during the warm months
and indoor practices in the cold. Softball is my life.
I live and die on the field, and I don’t know where
I’d be without it. Softball is the one time I
can just forget about reality and live in my own
world of hitting, catching, and throwing a ball.
I also play basketball in the winter, but I
played summer league this winter with
my (hopefully) high school team. So I'm
probably going to playing basketball in
the winter and in the summer league for my schoolJ
Musicis my other escape besides softball. I may
not be able to forget about what’s going on,
but it calms me down and I can think more clearly.
“People haven’t always been there for me,
but music has.” --Taylor SwiftJ
I'm sort of just... me. I guess the rest you want to know
about me you could find in my quotes.
SECRET #166 I gave you plenty of opportunities to prove me wrong. To prove you were different. To prove you wouldn't just leave me out in the cold. But everytime you proved that I was right. Every da.mn time. So give me one reason I should still be here for you and still care about you. Because I can't find any.
SECRET #163 Simple, small. Back of my lower leg, so no one can see them when I wear my basketball socks, and it's winter so I won't be wearing shorts elsewhere. Small scars that no one knows are there. Simple, small scars.
SECRET #161 Don't expect me to be here for you the next few days. I probably will be, just like always, but if I'm not, don't be suprised. You told me to go away. So I will. That's not what I needed to hear, so I'm not going to be here for you. Becasue I know you need someone to be.
SECRET #160 I was on Facebook saying how I had a giant bruise on my leg from practice and that it was still hard to breathe (my friend and I were talking about that when we were at practice) and my mom sees the post and told me to take it down. Do you know why? "No one cares or wants to hear it." That's what she told me. And she's right. She's absolutely fu.cking right. No one does care. So why should I? About myslef, about anyone, about anything? I don't fu.cking know. And so much for being happy. But none of you care anyway, right? Sometimes people just make you want to die.
SECRET #158 I had the razor on my skin again today. It was the first time in a week or two. I pulled it away, just like I have every time since seventh grade. I remembered what it felt like, how it relived all the stress and pressure. But I always find a reason to pull away, and lately the only reason to is because I know I have to be strong for everyone else. But I know eventually that's going to become my reason to start again.
SECRET #157 I was sad. He knew it right away. And he gave me a hug. Knowing someone was there for me was one of the best feelings ever. Him and I are going to be close, I can tell. He's been there for me, he's made me laugh, he's cheered me up; he's a genuienly good guy. And he gives amazing hugs<3
SECRET #156 I don't get you. You tell me my problems mught not be as bad as someone else's but then when I decide I can trust you enough to tell you a problem, they suddenly don't matter. It's so hard for me to trust people. I learned too young that even friends you've had forever will turn against you. It was screwed up, but I knew that by the time I was 9. It screwed up things for me, and now its hard to trust people. And you're just making it harder for me to trust you.
SECRET #155 The couch is broken, but it has to hold itself together until who's leaning on it gets up and walks away. And in the darkness, all alone, that's when the couch crumbles. The scarred legs, beaten down frame, and slit cushions, the couch falls into a million pieces. Then someone else comes in, and the couch puts itself together just enough to support that person. But when the person walks away, the couch is left again, all alone, with no one to put it together again, to brake worse than it did before. And the process repeats itself for the end of time. Because the couch knows its job. It's job is to support others, and not worry about itself. No one else cares for the couch; so why should itself? The couch is just being used. And the couch knows that and goes along with it. But this couch... also happens to be me.