Read In the Rearview Online

Authors: Maria Ann Green

In the Rearview (2 page)

BOOK: In the Rearview
12.23Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub


Dear Diary,

I don't know why everything has to seem like such a big deal. And I mean
. After my pencil broke today, I almost cried. I felt so stupid about my reaction, but even as I realized I was being crazy, it was hard to swallow down the lump in my throat. Tears pricked at the back of my eyes, and I had to blink them away or they would have spilled down my cheeks. Then, when I tried to sharpen it by the classroom door, and it wouldn't work, I had to get a pass to go to the bathroom.

I just couldn't hold it in anymore.

I actually cried in the bathroom because something small went wrong, and because I wasn't able to do something that
have been easy. My emotions just refused to be kept inside. I broke down over a pencil. How stupid is that? Why did I have to cry? And why did it need to feel like a bigger deal than it would to anyone else?

This is starting to get out of control, and I'm feeling like a freak, but I swear I'm trying hard not to be one. I don't like the people who always make something out of nothing.

I know I wasn't always this way.

It used to be easier to brush stuff off or let it go. But every day that passes lately seems more and more difficult. More makes me want to blow up and yell, run away and hide, or break down and cry. What happened to happy reactions? Where did they go?

I wish I had the answer, because I miss being happy and carefree.

I see most of my friends throwing their heads back and laughing, and instead of joining in, all I can see is a vivid green of jealousy. Then I wonder why they get to be so much happier. I wonder if they know some secret no one has shared with me. Maybe I'm just not special enough to know yet. Or maybe I haven't earned it.

Sometimes I even worry I've become a robot or a type of pod person. Somehow, maybe while I was sleeping, someone came into my bedroom, cut out my heart, and replaced it with mechanical hardware. Or my whole soul has been taken out and replaced with an unhappy replica.

If that's the case I wish they would change me back soon.

These Feelings That I Feel

These feelings that I feel

Are unsteady and unsure

These feelings that I feel

Are self-conscious and afraid

They don't know what to do

And they're afraid of what will happen

If they express themselves to you

I Am

I am a girl

Standing in front of you

Asking you to accept me

I am a friend

Standing beside you

Asking you to love me

I am a teen

Standing next to you

Asking you to stay with me

I am a child

Standing with you

Asking you to guide me

I am your friend

Standing forever by your side

Asking you to love me

I Am, I Am, I Am

I am the girl standing next to you

I am the girl crying beside you

I am looking for comfort

I am hoping for reassurance

I am in need of a friend

I am asking you to tell me it will all be okay

When in my heart I know it won't

I'm Not

There are so many things

That I fail to be

I'm not perfect

I'm not stable

I'm not even close to happy

I'm not what you want

I'm not what you need

I'm not even trying to be

I'm not coping well

I'm not working through

My ever-mounting problems

All I can do

Is sit and wallow

Counting the things

I cannot do


Dear Diary,

What's the point of it all anyway?

Why do we work so hard in school just to get into another school, and another, and then into a job we probably won't even like? Adults are always saying it was so much easier when they were kids, and working full time sucks. Why is that what we strive for then? Plus, I'm not sure they know what being
kind of kid is like.

But it's so much more than that. I find so much pointless.

Why do we worry about what people think of us when everyone is just doing the same thing? Why do we
people before we know more about who they are or how we connect with them? Why do we have to feel sad, angry, scared, or nervous?

Why is life so confusing and hard so much of the time?


Okay, maybe I'm just being too dramatic again. Maybe I'm worrying too much about things other people don't bother to fret over. Or maybe I just need to seriously calm down.

But, for whatever reason, I have been over thinking everything, and I've been full of anxiety over the littlest things lately. Like the pencil incident. That was just the beginning. I can't seem to let the little stuff go. Calming down is usually impossible, even after realizing I need to. Shouldn't I be able to calm myself down? That's a skill I
to have.

And it all seriously just sucks. Everything.

I want things to be easier. I want to be happier. I want to have more fun and be scared less. Will that come with age? Other adults don't look so unsure and chaotic inside. When you grow up do you just understand things better? Do you generally feel better about yourself?

I honestly hope so.

Because if not, if I'm just a weirdo, then I don't know what to do.


Unsure of the path I'm seeing

Unsure of the life I'm leading

Don't know what to do

Don't know how to do it

Too many mistakes made

Too much time when I was unsure

Unsure of what I do

Unsure of what is said

Unsure of who I am

The Pictures On The Wall

They look at me and laugh

They mock me

Night and day

They don't know when I've had enough

They don't understand

How much I hurt inside

They make me cry

As they laugh

Maybe if I talk to them

They'd try to understand

The pictures on the wall

They're always watching me

And they'll never understand

Who Can That Be

Who can that be

Staring straight back at me

Eyes so dull

And hair quite limp

She doesn't look fed

She looks tired

And needs to go to bed

She doesn't look happy

But not quite sad


Never getting mad

People say rude and mean things

She never talks back

She's never rude back

She doesn't cry

Although her self esteem

Is not super high

Who is this girl

With no life at all

She's living in a world

That's no world at all

To everyone else

She's so small

She doesn't speak up

Nor does she respond

She's a dull lifeless robot

And has formed

With no one

Any special bonds

Who is this girl

Staring back at me

Who can it be

Why when I look closer

I start to realize

That sad hopeless

Girl is me

Staring into a mirror

Back at pathetic old me


I hide so many things

Behind my layer of armor

I use to shield my pain

My feelings are hidden

My friends and family don't even know

I hope they never do

I hold so many secrets

Can never let them go

Getting There

I'm getting there

I can tell I'm close

And all along the way

I worsen my life

I hate the way I look and feel

And everything I do

On the way to the real thing

I hate and love what I do

I'm getting there

I can tell I'm close

Depression is not far away


Dear Diary,

Something is new, but not
new. Not only am I always upset, but now I've also been super tired lately.

Actually I'm constantly exhausted.

I have no idea what's going on with me. One bad thing follows another. It's possible for me to sleep ten hours at night, and when I get home from school, I will feel I can't get anything done, or even start my homework, before I get in a nap. And my naps aren't short. They last for hours at a time.

I will lie on the couch for huge chunks of time, stretch out, taking up all the space just watching TV. After my nap I feel like a lump, a waste of space, with nothing better to do than be lazy. Then dinner is ready, a few more TV shows, and I'm back to bed.

I sleep more than I ever used to, and yet it never seems to be enough.

I'm great at being lazy. Right now it might be my hobby, the thing I'm best at. What a talent. Luckily, my homework isn't suffering. But thankfully, that has always come easily to me. I still get every assignment done when it is due, between naps, and the answers are correct. Maybe that's why nothing seems off to anyone else. Looking like I care is easy; I know how to do that. But none of it is ever interesting to me either. Yet no one notices how I've changed.

Like I said, I'm not worried about my grades or school at all. I get everything turned in, interesting or not. At least that keeps everyone off my back about all of the sleeping. If I can get an A, then there is nothing wrong with me, right? Apparently.

I've wondered lately, if things get worse, will I still be able to go unnoticed? Maybe I can fly under the radar, no matter how bad things get internally, if I keep the external version of myself socially acceptable. No one wants to be brought down by someone else's problems, right? At least that's how it seems.

Ugh. I'm getting tired again. This exhaustion never goes away.

Maybe I'll write more after my nap.

The Real Thing

How do you define depression

To some it's a way of life

And to others just a thing

Never to be dealt with

It can be a person

The darkness

Or a figure in the midst ever moving

Never close enough to conquer

How do you define the real thing


I can't get enough

I always want more

When my head hits the pillow

In an instant I'm beyond gone

Lights out

Oblivious and unconscious

All I want is more sleep

Because when I'm there

Somewhere in dream land

Fast asleep

Nothing matters

I'm not sad

I'm not a disappointment

I'm just floating through

Always wanting

More sleep

Better Off

I know you are

Most certainly

And undeniably

Better off

Without me

You are more capable

To love

You are more honest

And better in general

At being what someone

Needs and deserves

I am broken


Standing on one leg

Only half my heart beating

I know you put forth

More effort

And genuine love

While I continue to

Make mistakes

And ruin what I have

But that is who I am

And until I find

The one who makes me

A better person

That is how I will stay

So as hard as it is to say

You should move on

Be without me

Because you are certainly

Better off that way

BOOK: In the Rearview
12.23Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Other books

The Four Kings by Scott Spotson
Spirit's Chosen by Esther Friesner
Blue Bedroom and Other Stories by Rosamunde Pilcher
The Quest for the Heart Orb by Laura Jo Phillips
Tainted Blood by Martin Sharlow
Zuckerman Unbound by Philip Roth
Vampyre Blue by Davena Slade Nicolaou