I feel like the lowest creature on earth.
Haven’t been able to express it for a while, though…
I hate myself. I’m like this one person who wants to be somebody but always ends up being nobody.
I’m not important. I am. All my life, I’m number two. Hell, I’m even the second child in my family. I guess it runs in my genes.
No wonder it’s so important to be number one for me.
I longed so much to matter. It’s really pathetic, I know. But when you live all your lives being ignored because everybody found somebody better than you, this is pretty much how you end up into.
My friend says it’s because I look up too much, and never look down.
I told him that I can hardly see anything down.
Computer science people, ever heard of a type of data structure called a stack? Any new data that enters becomes the top of stack, and therefore can be accessed first. The bottom of stack, which is the first data to be saved, can only be reached after others have been taken away.
I’m the bottom of stack. Except new things always comes around, and therefore I was never found. I’m known, I exist, but I’m not needed.
Alright, I just relate myself to a data structure, which I know makes me appear even sadder.
What do I want?
I want to be important to somebody. I want to matter. I want to be special to someone, to be able to give something that nobody else can give. I want to be needed. Badly.
Why is this so important to me?
I’ve lived my life looking for somebody to care about what I think, to tell me right from wrong, to believe in me. I’ve screamed and screamed from the bottom of the well. I held on to those I found, I cherish them hard. But some disappears. I’m not that interesting.
Plus I’m not that pretty either.
And I see all these people that found others who cares for them. I’ve seen dozens of people who doesn’t deserve to have so much love and care, but they got it anyway. Why?
Because they look better?
I tend to think it’s because they have something to offer, regardless of what they lack. This little loser right here, however, does not. What do I have to make others interested in me, let alone care for me?
Others would say to me, “You don’t need someone else to make you happy.” And they do have a point. One can be happy with the companion of one’s self. I’ve experienced it many times. But when one feels lonely, the slap of reality comes back. You are only one. Alone.
Whether you live or die does not matter to everyone. If I die, my friends will be sad, but there will be someone to be there for them, to cheer them up. And eventually, I will be forgotten. No one is going to remember me for the rest of their lives.
What a horrible thought.
Now I remember why I don’t want to express this.
It brings out the pain from previous stabs I’ve felt in my heart whenever I was left alone.
It hurts me as I’m typing, but I can’t stop writing…
This is me, a part of me and my past that I’ve covered, but is now bursting out and killing me. It’s a cry for help, and every time I experienced one, I fear that it would be my last. And that I’d give up hope.
I don’t want to.
I still want to believe that I could someday be important to someone. But this is one of the times when I lost that belief, and this moment needs to be remembered. Just so one day, when someone has filled this hole in me, I’d remember what it feels to be alone and ignored.
I am the worst of a kind. I can say that because no one, no one, has been able to prove me wrong. All they said is “No, of course you’re not the worst, you have good things…” and stop.
A complete loser has won the argument.
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