I sat there, silent in the noisy room. Students all sat with their friends, chatting and eating. I was the only one who didn't sit with friends. What is a friend? Here's the simple answer. Someone who cares for you, who wants you happy, who supports you in your darker times, even when you don't want it.

Heh, it's funny. People say ignorance is bliss. I know not all agree with that, but I do. I was happy when I was young and ignorant. Ignorant to the truth. The truth of society, the truth of the world, the truth of life. What's the truth, I hear you asking. The truth is all of them are cruel. Life hates the kinder humans and adores the cruel savages of society. I know, I'm rambling, but I have to be honest at least once in my life.

So, in the obnoxiously loud room, I sat with 'friends.' Haha, as if a failure like me would have real friends. They don't care. They pity me. They pity how useless and troubled I am. Three mental disorders? Aspergers Syndrome, depression and anxiety. I feel nothing but shame. I'm sorry. I don't try to annoy anyone. I do try to get better. I take medication and go to a psychologist. Heck, my Mom had depression. It should be easy to get through it. No. I've failed. I'm sorry.

Discreetly, I searched my blazer pocket and pulled out a pen lid. I know what you're thinking. A pen lid? What's that going to do you dumb shit? Well, it's been very effective. Part of it was chewed and could scrape well against skin.

Before I done anything, I thought about my parents. What would they say if they knew I wasn't using the elastic band? They would be even more dissapointed in me. Maybe I should go to attendance and ask them to call Mom and tell her I feel hated. No! I said I'd do lunch! If I manage, she'll be so proud. I can finally do something right? Besides, she doesn't have to know. If she notices, say it's a scratch.

I grinned at the table, my locks of curled hair covering my face. Before I started, I took a glance at my 'friends'. The usual duo sat together, talking about anime bullshit and beaming; along with a bit of fangirling. My only male friend I hung out with at lunch joined in occasionally, making a comment about nukes, video games and being a duck. If I didn't feel like absolute shit, I would have laughed. One of the duo had a boyfriend that sat besides her. Heh, love. All it brings is pain and agony. Their love won't last long. It never does.

Everyone was distracted. Swiftly and carefully, I reached into the sleeve of my blazer and scraped the lid against my skin, feeling apathy from the source of physical pain. My skin went red, skin slowly peeling off. I kept an eye on the group around me. They pretended to care. Haha, it's obvious they don't. I only have two friends who care, and one's in an older year, and the other in a younger year. They were there for me. Always were. I could always talk about anything with them. They knew how my humor worked and never got upset if I said something offensive, understanding I never meant anything bad. Plus, when I'm upset, they are there for me, no matter what. Heck, they would even let me go to there house so I could feel safer. None of these 'friends' did. They helped, but not to the extent my closer friends did. They don't understand me. One of them can be proud of themselves, feel accomplished. Another could just deal with everything. Finally, the last could brush of insults and joke about it. None of them knew how I felt. No one did. I was alone.

The lid peeled of my skin, stinging. It hurt. It hurt so bad. It hurt... and I loved it.

Time Skip

Home. Should be a safe place. Nope. I've cut twice.

I enjoyed my online friends, feeling closer to them than people I knew in real life, besides the two great ones. I met them on Wattpad and adored them immediately. I was happy. I felt understood. I felt loved. I felt accepted.

Of course, it didn't last. I grew distant from them, feeling like I was always a burden and they were growing tired of me. I didn't speak to anyone anymore. Every update I do caused the thought of what does it matter? No one reads it. No one likes it. Everyone hates me. They talk about me behind my back. They laugh at me. I've failed them so many fucking times! They want me dead, just like everyone else. They want to get away from me. They lie by posting things like 'family issues. Won't be speaking for a while,' or 'I'm sorry, been having problems. I need some alone time.' It makes me sick.

I flicked through my library, feeling empty. I knew their plan. Make a public update, then private message eachother things about me. They mocked me behind my back. No more! It was so fucking hard to write this. Don't say you care! I know you don't! Please, tell me the fucking truth! It would hurt less if you stopped lying. Tell me if I'm a bother! I truly love everyone of you. You all feel like family to me. I'm in fucking tears. Tell me the truth! Please. I just want the truth. If I know what I do wrong, I can try to fix it. I don't wanna lose my closest friends. Please, what have I done wrong. I'm gonna do it. I'm getting the fucking pen lid. Don't tell me not to. I'm gonna fucking do it! Don't lie to me. Don't tell me you care. Don't tell me don't hate me. Don't tell me not to scrape my skin off. I'm sorry. Got off track.

I flicked through my library, feeling empty. I had no friends, I had no family, I had no good qualities. All I had were flaws. Obvious and obnoxious flaws. I wanna do it. I wanna fucking die! Who would care!? Everyone would be happier without me. I sat on my floor, beginning to write a new chapter on my short stories, breaking down halfway through and getting close near the end.

Why does everyone hate me?