Everyone I know looks forward to Fridays, to finally have their weekend start, and dreads the quickly approaching Monday. For some reason though, I've always been the exact opposite.
In a way I suppose this is a good thing, I get a full 5 days of what I enjoy while other people get 2 or arguably 3, depending on how eventful they manage to make a Friday night. However, I absolutely despise the weekend.
Currently, I'll admit, I don't really have a difference in my schedule as far as working or school goes, between the week and the weekend. This doesn't stop me from still loving the week. I believe I may love it for entirely cruel reasons, like all of you are so extremely busy during the week. We all know once the weekend comes around, the chances of you choosing to hang out with me over any other plan possible is slim to none. I am a last resort, which is fine, I suppose. This post isn't me being angry about that, which occasionally I do get upset over, it's just recognizing why I enjoy the week so much more.
When you have less free time every night or day to make real plans, hanging out with me seems like an acceptable option.
Perhaps I'm just too boring? I know that maybe if I was more fun, I wouldn't be stuck at home consumed in my own horrible thoughts all weekend. I would absolutely love to be like everyone of your other friends, and be able to do stuff with you on the weekends. However, this will probably never be the case, especially while I'm stuck in this awful state of Ohio.
Why else do I love the week? Well, I like to stay busy. Working, going to class, running errands, having things to do, stuff to occupy my mind.
I really do need to currently occupy my mind. It feels like on the weekend I walk down a very very thing tightrope, and the slightest waver in either direction will make me fall off. Normally falling off would be okay, because there'd be someone to be my net and to catch me. Not now though. I can't always rely on other people to save me. It's really rather pathetic how badly I just need support from someone sometimes, even in just the smallest ways. Sometimes, people don't even know they're saving me, just by texting me about some silly nonsense or some unimportant topic. It means so much just to hear from you.
However, I can't keep lying to myself and telling me that I matter to you. I know I don't, and I need to stop hoping someone will catch me when I need it. I know the truth inside, and it brings tears to my eyes just to think this thought but I know that...
I am at the bottom of your list.
I hate how often I just crave for someone to randomly tell me that I matter, that they care, that I mean something. But it never comes though, which makes me need it so much more.
Pathetic. Sickening. This is my personality? How did I become so broken? I blame my family for never telling me they love me while growing up, or anyone else really. It's all I need. I just want to be special. Gah. If only I could be somebody else, like that person, or maybe him. Yeah. The problem here is clearly who I am.
Basically, being everyones last choice, of minimal importance, absolutely pains me to the very core. Can I not be like everyone else? Can I not matter?
These thoughts flood my head and make me feel even more sick to my stomach about myself. I try not to be down on myself, but I know the truth, and I can't stop what I'm thinking. I always debate deleting all of these, writing it in this book instead, but that'd probably be a bad decision.
What to do, what to do?
-Xan
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