No One Has to Know

The young girl sat and stared at the blank document on her computer screen. She felt tired and unstable as her fingers ghosted over the keys. She took a deep breath before her fingers began to dance across them.


Some days I hate myself and I get sad, unbearably sad. And the emotion always hits me and surprises me into submission. I never know how I’m going to react to the tidal wave, but I know I won’t be calling or asking anyone to comfort me. Because after a while, reaching out to people and being ignored starts to hurt. I already know I’m not worth the time, I do not to be reminded of it. And then, that thought brings on another thought. One that has constantly been at the back of my mind since I can remember: I will never be anyone’s first choice, not now, not ever.

It is a sad thing to think about, that someone will always be better than you and that they will always be chosen over you. It’s sad, but it’s reality. And when reality starts to chip away at the happy illusions that I’ve created for myself, I become this bundle of nerves that can’t seem to calm down and relax. I begin to feel like I’m going to throw up, faint, and die all at once. I begin to feel like life is tightly gripping my throat with rough and bony hands that leave unseen scars on my flesh.

So I hide away in my bed. I burrow deep beneath the covers and I don’t leave. Even if I begin to feel lightheaded and too warm. I curl up on my side and close my eyes and hope that when I open them, I will be normal. That I won’t be so neurotic and so pessimistic. I will do this for the majority of the day until it hits me that I will always be a weird, neurotic, pessimistic, and pathetic piece of shit. People don’t notice those things about me because I hide myself in pretty clothes and pretty makeup. I doll myself up into a glorified waste of space.

I even fool people into believing that I’m a happy and normal person. People seem to believe that I’m this cheerful and sweet person. But I’m not. I’m cold, peculiar, pessimistic, rude, and dumb. That isn’t to say that I’m not ever happy. Because I can be.

Today is just not a day for smiles and laughter. At least, not for me.

She opened a web page and couldn’t decide if this was something that she should post into her blog. She had many friends who followed her blog and she wasn’t sure if she could deal with the influx of guilt-induced texts and messages that she would surely receive upon posting the entry. As she closed her eyes, she decided that she wouldn’t post it.

“If someone cares enough, they will contact me on their own. They won’t need any initiative. If someone wants to see me, they will come to me on their own accord,” she murmured resolutely to herself as she closed the web page and deleted her journal entry.

No one had to know that she felt alone and unneeded. The young girl brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, pulling them tight against her. She felt the hot sting of tears as they left her eyes and slipped down her cheeks.

No one had to know.



This is a beginning…

A beginning of a fantastic adventure.

A beginning of a great epic story.

A beginning of a tragic end.

At least, that’s what I’d like to write. This isn’t anything dramatic and emotional. This is just a beginning, a start to something better, something to mark this day in the novel of my life so that I have no chances to forget how the wind felt on my skin, how the warmth of the sun spread through my veins like fire, and how my sister is literally every bad Asian teen stereotype rolled into one little compact string of hate. I won’t forget my pride at how I argued that Ophelia and Hamlet DID in fact have sexual relations in William Shakespeare’s Hamlet or the offense I took to my sister and her friend, Athena (who knew a girl with this amazing name would turn out to be such an ungrateful soul sucker?), not thanking me for the ride I home. I won’t forget the pride I felt at being called “a quiet sort of beauty” by my neighbor as I stepped out of my car today.

With this beginning, I throw out my insecurities, everything that makes me angry and unhappy, and all of society’s pressures on me to be the most perfect me that I can be. This beginning is giving me a chance to accept all of my flaws and see that I CAN be beautiful even if it’s “a quiet sort of beauty”. A happier life doesn’t start with holding onto every insult and hateful thing said to you, no, it starts when you can forget all of those and come to accept yourself and your body for what they are and that you come to love it and take pride in it.

This is the beginning of something small that will lead to a great story.

This is a beginning.