Ugh… another realization. I shouldn't even get my hopes up because every time I smile at something, something bigger and worse always hits me. And heyy "Thanks for trying to read this, though I know we're related, so maybe you clicked on this topic out of obligation. But hey, I appreciate it anyway."
soooo...I was just standing there, staring at the ground from the third floor of my college, watching him play basketball.
Alone, as usual, because she never saw me as a friend, even though I was always loyal to her.
Being alone brings me peace — maybe I'm the only one who actually gets me. I never expected anything from them, so maybe that's why I feel okay being by myself.
"Them" could mean him, or her… but honestly, it's also my parents.
used to get all these mixed signals, questioning myself. Am I the one in the wrong? Or did they shape me like this?
But at the end of the day, who even cares?
I promised myself I wouldn't turn into a bad person just because they treated me like crap. I can't even use the word "bad" because, at least they gave me the basics — clothes, food, a roof over my head.
I shouldn't be saying this, but seriously... why even bring me into this world if they couldn't give me more than the bare minimum?
I know, I know, I probably shouldn't be saying this, but what can I even say? They don't know who I am, they don't know the real me. People always say that being with your parents makes you feel at home, but how can I call it "home"? A place where there are constant arguments over the smallest things. A place where I feel so insecure. A place where I don't even feel loved. Isn't home supposed to be a place where you feel safe, happy, and cared for? Instead, it's where I feel invisible, like no one really sees me for who I am.
Maybe sharing my story will make you all cry, but why should we get so serious? You guys came here to lighten the mood, right? Or is it your hobby to read? I don't want to burden anyone with my pain, but sometimes it feels like it's too heavy to carry alone. I'll try not to make anyone cry, I promise. But the truth is, so many of us are carrying silent battles. I know a lot of people here are going through their own struggles too, and that just makes everything harder to bear.
Who am I supposed to share my feelings with? When you don't feel loved in your own home, you start to crave it from others. You start looking for it everywhere, even when you know it's not always going to come from the right places. You start sneaking around, trying to find people who will listen, who will understand, who will just make you feel like you matter. But even that feels like a never-ending search.
It's heartbreaking that an 18-year-old girl even has to say these things. It's like growing up too fast, but still feeling like you're stuck somewhere, caught between wanting to feel loved and wanting to figure out who you are. Sometimes, it feels like the world expects you to have it all figured out, but how can you when you can't even find peace at home?
I was at the third floor of my college building, zoning out, until suddenly I was home, so fast it felt like the world was spinning. I couldn't help but laugh at myself. Girls, we know the truth, right? Boys won't ever really get us. Nope. And so, when I say he, I'm talking about my so-called boyfriend. Watching him play basketball wasn't about his skills—oh no, it was about questioning everything. Why the hell am I still with him when he's a traitor? Wait—he's not a cheater, I won't say that, because he never technically cheated, but he sure knows how to play games. "She's just a friend," or "She's like a sister,"—seriously, bro? Did your mom give birth to her? Every girl's been through it. We know the truth about him, but damn, we still fall for those stupid boys who act like they don't care.
I watched him walk over to me, his hair damp with sweat, his jersey sticking to his chest like he was fresh out of the game, and those damn biceps—ugh, I couldn't stop looking. Was I using him? Just for his body? Hell no. He hasn't seen my body yet, though. He waved at me, that annoying cocky grin plastered on his face. He walked closer, glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and before I knew it, his hands were on my waist, pulling me in. His lips crashed against mine, so sudden, so intense. My stomach flipped like a wild zoo inside of me. How could I leave him? Did he deserve better? Or was I the one who deserved better?
But everyone says I deserve better because he's not even that handsome. But what do we really need? A guy with a slight ugly face who makes us laugh, right? Because in the end, we just need someone who makes us feel something. Even if it's a little complicated, messy… and a little too hot to handle.
Another day, same old drama. I heard—again—that he was out with some other girls, hanging out like it's his full-time job. But whatever. That's not even surprising anymore. It's just routine at this point, right? So I brush it off like I always do.
My eyes were barely open, and like clockwork, I had to wake up to their loud, pointless conversations. Every single morning, I just wish for some peace—just five minutes of silence—but I know better than to expect that. Honestly, is it just me who feels like this? Or do other people secretly hate being around their families too? Maybe I'm just overthinking, but the way people behave and the mixed signals they give me—it's enough to drive anyone insane. Sometimes I don't even know if I'm the problem, or if they all just enjoy being confusing.
And there she is—her highness—with her usual angry face. Yep, that's my mom. Then comes the self-proclaimed "head" of the family, acting like he knows everything. But the truth? I see right through him. It's like I've got this sixth sense, this weird little power where I can just tell what kind of person someone is. I don't know if it's a power or just my intrusive thoughts winning again, but they're rarely wrong.
Growing up, I used to feel like I was the only one who thought this deeply, who felt this disconnected. But then social media came along, and suddenly, I realized—oh crap—we're all messed up in the same way. Like, seriously, all humans are just... the same. So why is it so damn hard for us to understand each other? If we're all connected, why do we keep hurting each other? Why do people go out of their way to be cruel?
Sometimes I wish I had the power to change the world. Just once. Because if I did, trust me—people would actually be happy living their lives. Alone or with someone, it wouldn't matter. No more hating, no more fake smiles, just real peace.
I won't lie, though—I have my doubts. About God, about this whole existence thing. I mean, sure, I pray. I do what I've been taught. But deep down? I don't always feel it. Maybe I'm just built different, or maybe there are more people like me—quietly wondering the same things, thinking the same thoughts. I don't think I'm alone. I think we're just all too scared to say it out loud.