Idiots.

I'm tired of bad days. I'm sick of waiting for the world to swallowme whole with every single step. I'm sick of this teenage agony that I feel everyday. I want to stop caring what the world thinks of me, and sit in a guargantuan library with Charlotte Bronte's thoughts and Emily Bronte's wit. I want to be among them as their little sister. Sometimes when I'm deadly depressed, I imagine myself sitting and talking to Charlotte about my feelings. She pets my hand and tells me that the world is cruel, and offers me the best advice she can give. I tell her everything on my mind, down to the last drop of innocence to the highly devote opinions I have of my parents. There would be moss growing from the ground, and the library will be set in an outside green house. The books will never wilt and we will never grow old. We will laugh about the joys of life, maybe even write a beautiful novel together. I won't have to think of my past nor future, but the present and the wonderful time I'm having with her.
Sometimes, I think I'm depressed. I want my shoes to crack through the ground and let my mind sleep in a silence in a string of stars swirling in the universe. I want to lie on the beach with mermaids, gallop in the desert with dinosaurs, and feel wind on my wings. Last night I imagined a mascerade before my death. Beautiful jesters, light colored cat masks, unicorn huffs, and delightful patterns of lipstick on people dancing around me. Picasso scares me... his quote on "Anything you can imagine is real". I imagine alot of things, and they could be real. Inside my head they are real. My own bliss is what is real, and all my bliss is inside my head. It'll never go out, because at the end of the day this world is made of terrible circumstances, like me never getting to drive in the next 6 months, me losing someone that was once considered my soul mate, and my own self.
I feel so lost. Charlotte if you hear me, I'm pretty devastated. I don't know if I could love someone again, it'd hurt too much and I'm too niave. Love is supposed to last forever, and this feeling is definitely bubbling inside of me, eating my flesh from the inside, and capturing my heart. I wish he knew how much this hurt, how I want to talk to him, how I want to change the past as much as possible. I would reverse all the yelling, all the insults, all the assumptions. I would be more driven. I'd try to be a good student. I'd make better choices.
Now is the time to fix all that. I'm trying. I really am. But society brings me down. Deflates me. Everyone wants me to fail. What will happen once I do smoke my first cigarette, fall in love with an asshole again, and turn my life upside down. I want to know.