This is a sort of biography… But not really… It's kind of more of a monologue of my thoughts. A few people wanted to see, so… Yeah, here's what I have so far:

*This is not meant to sound like a complaint; it is simply a monologue of my thoughts.*             If I were to die today, how many people would care? From what my mind tells me, very few. My mind; What a piece of equipment. Encased in a layer of bone, just to be sure it’s safe. Does it sound amazing? Well, I didn’t meant for it to… It’s not. It has the same old structure as anyone else’s, but some parts seem to be broken. I don’t think that I think like most people; I’m aware that no tow people are alike, but I feel so isolated that I feel I can call it “different from the rest”. To most, a white lie is no huge deal… To me, it causes a whirlwind of terror and immense grief. Just one little lie. It’s as though my life is at stake! You may think that I am over exaggerating, but do you know what I’ve been through and how long this internal war has been going on? About a decade. So unless you’ve experienced my life, which you haven’t, you don’t know how I function of malfunction, if you will. Now you’d probably think to yourself, “She seems to have a pretty cushioned life.” And yes, I do live a physically good life.. But the mental part is not so pretty. Since I was 6 or 7, we knew I’d developed Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD), or something in the realm of it. Now, once again, I will try to imagine what the reader, if there ever will be one, is thinking, “Well geez, more than half her life she’s had it, don’t you think she’d be used to it, or at least have an outlet?” Yes, and no. Once again, physical versus mental… *FIGHT!* (Sorry, Mortal Kombat…) As for the headaches and whatnot, yes, I’m as used to a headache as you can get. I’m used to all of my quirks and flaws. But the internal battle gets worse with every year that passes. I worry more, have more to worry about, and have more expected of me. Some acquaintances, since I am never really sure of who my “friends” are at times, come to me with problems. I try to solve them, occasionally I do, with what seems to me very little appreciation… And yet, I continue to try and fix as many problems as I can… But that’s where MY dilemmas start! When I feel that I haven’t solved a problem, it becomes my problem. I know that I shouldn’t personalize peoples’ problems, but I can’t help it, I care to goddamn much! Even unfixable problems I feel responsible for! When there are problems, I panic as though it’s my fault. When there aren’t, I worry that someone’s hiding something from me. Constant reassurance is needed to ensure that I don’t explode. I’m actually very surprised that I haven’t reached a breaking point, as far as anger goes… I’m so nonviolent, it makes other people violent since I won’t fight back. But it’s not even all about those who are willing to acknowledge, or occasionally associate with me… Some of it’s from the people who never seem to notice I exist. They make me degrade myself because they act as if I’m a nuisance to mankind, which I probably am… But anyways, this isn’t just a plea for kindness, just an insight to who I am internally, as best as I can describe it. If you are capable of reading this whole thing… Wow.             My eyes are warm as though I am about to cry, which seems likely, as I cried last night. My sternum feels like it’s being weighed down by something actually under my skin, constricting my lungs, making it harder and harder to breathe. The burdens of my problems are perhaps somehow trapped on my breast bone… Maybe this is where the term “getting things of one’s chest” comes from? Probably not. I’m just having a small panic attack. Here in Chemistry class. Aside from the feeling I have now, due to various reasons I care not to list. To sum it all up, I will use a cliché once again: “the weight of the world feels like it’s on my shoulders.” Oops. Botched that up, like most things I do. “It feels like the weight of the world is on my shoulders.” My bad. Of course, why should I worry about that? I meant, it’s not like people pay much attention to me… And yet they do. I am scrutinized for my flaws, but never recognized for my good deeds, which, again, I do anyways. And now I am bombarded by questions of people who just discovered that I am a triplet. Despite the fact that I am banging my head on the table, I continue to be attacked. Oohs and ahhs erupt. I sometimes don’t tell people that I am “one of three” because of this. I hate the fact that I am categorized as one part of something. The only thing I want to be a part of is something I chose to be a part of. I’m not saying I hate people for categorizing me, or I’d hate the entire world, pretty much. I just want to be me, not part of someone like that… But in a work of abbreviations, what can I do? IDK?! LOL? Once again, this isn’t meant to be a list of complaints, just a monologue. I keep ending my monologue, but more stuff pops into my head! I can’t stop thinking about this thing a bunch of particularly good “acquaintances” are going to attend something that could possibly be the most enjoyable thing they’ve ever done; don’t get me wrong, I’m very happy for them… It just hurts to know I won’t be a part of it. I was about to explain this, but, as usual, I was almost immediately silenced. I tend to get left out, I think. Many times, I must admit, I’ve envied my own comrades because they’re having a good time without me… It’s to the point that it almost seems as though they have a better time without me, which they probably do. But who am I to interfere?             And so it continues; people jab at me when I mess up. They get angry at me for whatever I do or don’t do. When it’s time to say goodbye, it seems like people don’t give a $#!+ whether I’m there or gone. Now, back to the idea of me having not gone through a lot: my parents celebrated their 28^th anniversary 3 days prior to me writing this, I’ve never raped or beaten, no one extremely close to me has died, I’m in good physical health, my house has never been destroyed, and I feel safe at night, not worrying about crime or finances or what I’m going to eat. Pretty goddamn cozy? Probably. I kinda feel bad saying that I’m upset. I suppose a factor of this is my lack of outlets… The reason I started to write this was to vent, and thus far it’s not really working! I can’t run or punch or scream… I mean I  run and scream, but it never really helps. Many people become violent when they are frustrated, but as I mentioned, I cannot. It’s not as though I’m disabled, but I just can’t do it… I have no ideas as to why aside from I’d feel guilty of doing someone harm, which creates more problems and trouble. A lot of little things add up, as well as unresolved anger, and no vent for my issues. (Including the ones I “Personalize”.)             I guess it’s just kind of hard to compare these things… And now I’m pulling out hair as I write, tricotillomania, due to stress most likely. Now that I’ve pondered it a bit more, the things that don’t happen to me affect me negatively as well… Like the fact that I’ve never felt like I fit in, never felt wanted, never payed much attention to my own needs, never got on High Honors, never achieved something worth recognition… Now I hear stuff from back home… (Illinois) It’s odd, though, as I write this, I realize I really am battling my own mind… Now, as I seem to change topics frequently between hair-pulling sessions, I think to religion. I am agnostic, meaning I believe in a higher power, but nor particular religion. If sins were forgiven by prayer and admittance, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t feel this crappy. That sentence I just wrote, I liked it for some reason… Rare: me being pleased with myself for extended periods of time; that almost never occurs, but you knew that since I used the word rare… So, I was thinking about editing this, maybe typing it… But I get the feeling the “edited version” would have more obscenities than the original, for added emphasis, of course! (*NOTE: This is typed exactly how it was written with no edits aside from this note and spell-checker!*)             Bad things. Why do they happen to f***ing amazing people? Someone I had to leave is really down, and I can’t ever reach out and hug her… More people continue to tell me their problems… Will it ever end? (Or at least slow down…) Myanmar: 12k dead, many others missing, followed by the worst quake in China in 30 years. Sad stories, sad pictures, sad people… It gets to even the most optimistic people eventually. I try to think as a “glass half full” kind of person, but what happens when the “glass” falls and breaks into tiny pieces? The liquid escapes, the broken “glass” or heart spills… We cry… Or those who can, throw punches. My mind, in the last part, where my thoughts changed a lot, that’s probably my ADD, so… It’ll probably happen again if you continue reading. As for me, I got people to try and please…             And now that I think again about those that have far worse situations than I do, I feel bad saying I’m having a hard time, but I can’t have a decent time if everybody else is sad… Once again, I care too much. As well as this it kind of gives me a sense of impending doom that some catastrophic is bound to occur in my life. It’s hared, though, because of my inability to tell who is or isn’t on my side; I say “my” rather than “ours” because if no one’s on my side, it’s just me. Just me. I’ve had so many lonely times in my life, I can’t even count them anymore. Even with reassurance, I never truly feel I am someone worth befriending. When an acquaintance says I’m “cool” or “amazing”, I ask, “why?”… They never seem to have an answer. Not knowing things is hard, like when people you really care about don’t tell you things; I mean, a few secrets, sure… But when it becomes a daily occurrence… It becomes harder to bear.             I’m sitting here and wondering if there is a connection between my self-esteem, (Which is low) and my incapacity to fit in. I’ve always kind of wanted to be “The One”… Like “The Smart One”, or swap “Smart” with kind, sweet, strong, cool, or anything like that. I know I’ll probably never be more than just a person filling in space, but it would be nice… It’s hard for other people to understand the dynamics of being a triplet… I can see why, as it is incredibly difficult, if not impossible, to explain. Living under a constant fear that my “friends” will be torn away from me by two people I don’t really consider my “friends” most of the time… Oh, and yes, that has happened, more than once! It’s extremely painful to go through; wouldn’t you feel like $#!+ if someone you loved (In some cases several people) were stolen by people you’d rather just avoid? It sucks to be undesirable and far less charming than your sisters you are constantly “competing” (For lack of a more accurate term) with. Sometimes, I wonder if I were more physically attractive, I’d be more well-liked? The beautiful people hang out with the other pretty people… However, a few gorgeous people are willing to associate with me… Why? No idea… As I said earlier, they won’t tell me! Maybe my parents pay them? Who knows… *Strange thing, unless you’ve conversed with me, you’d probably never guess I’m an optimist! Sad stuff is easier to write about, a bit more interesting, and seems to happen more often than not as of late!* No, seriously, I can’t lie, remember? Whirlwinds?             You think you know someone, They tell you just about everything… Then, gradually, it stops; they find someone better. You know what? It’s probably just me, I mean, I don’t think this kind of thing happens a whole lot. Every time I’m avoided, yelled at, or mistrusted, it tears a little part of me away. Now, there’s so much missing, I don’t know if I’ll ever repair it… Yes, there is a way to repair this; by being loved, hugged, and trusted… But it takes more to repair something than destroy it. Today is National Teen Depression and Suicide Awareness Day; to show support for people who are in this position, you’re supposed to write “love” on your forearm. I did, and I got quite a few to do the same. I’ve always felt that’d rather die in place of anyone; not saying that I want to die, but I would take away anyone’s pain if I could. I’m not saying I want pain either, I just would rather everyone be happy.             Am I someone’s plaything? Is that all I am? I know that I have a past of being notoriously “slow”, but does that let everyone else mess with me? Sure, it’s sort of OK to laugh at other people’s misfortune sometimes, but It’s kind of hard to laugh along with people when It’s constant. Funny, as I write this , with an unsteady hand due to the fact hat I’m in a bus, I am listening to a song that’s refrain is, “I’m happy, I’m feeling glad; I got sunshine, in a bag. I’m useless, but not for long; my future, is comin’ on.” Hahaha. For me, that sounds about as likely as me running a marathon somewhere humid! (( lack stamina, and dehydrate easily I almost wish my ridiculously long bus ride was longer, so I could continue writing in the same mindset, but I’ll be home in 5-10 minutes…             Once again, I can’t focus on French until after class… Now I feel like a toy again… I was sitting on stairs, waiting for my bus, when an “acquaintance” of mine farts in my face. Grand, now don’t I feel loved? I get the feeling that some people trying to “steal” my “best friend” away. Let me tell you a bit about my “BFF”. We decided that we were so close, we had our own “wavelength”, we told each other everything… At least I know I did… And now, I feel like they like these “thieves” better. I wouldn’t give a damn if all of us were best buds, but instead I feel like I’m being sabotaged… Of course, this was to be expected, since I’m so undesirable… I mean, would you rather have a mosquito or a baby dog or cat? Mosquitoes: avoided, baby cats/dogs: loved. In school we’d always make these “Mind Maps”, of course, they were supposed to be an organizational tool, but mine always ended up looking chaotic and confusing, like an actual map of my mind! I’ve got quite a bit of work to worry about, so I’ll write more when I get off the bus and finish all of that… Or I’ll procrastinate, as usual.             There I sat, in a little crevice in the wall. The wall was kind of nice, kinda felt like someone was holding me. I remember when my parents used to hold me. I felt so safe and happy and loved, my body sprawled across their lap, their arms around me, or maybe rubbing my back… Nobody does that anymore. I’m not adorable anymore, so nobody wants to hug me for too long. Ow, my wrist hurts… (Old fracture + archery = no.) And now, my eyes burn a bit, When I try to hold back tears for a while, my eyes get really wet, but after, I stare off for a while, without blinking… Then the only thing left on my eyeballs is the salt of my tears, once they dry. The hot, sunny, uncomfortable weather doesn’t help. Neither does the fact that my dad started smoking again last night, or that I had a long, terrible dream where my dog was being taken away. It wasn’t entirely the dog, either, it was the fact that my parents wanted  to get rid of one of my only friends that I know I can count on. Oh, my gut; It’s pretty sad when people are making penis and vagina jokes, and I can’t even muster a chuckle