It probably shouldn't be like this. I shouldn't get depressed over stupid things.

Yet, here I am, in the very place I want to get away from so desperately.

I am not sure I can even put this into words to my friends, much less my family. I do not want to see a counselor I will hate. And, it seems at the same time, while my family might try to put me in therapy of some sort... no one will really care. Not that it matters, of course. It's just a silly little thing that I'll get over in a few days, or so. Maybe a month, at the longest.

Everything I feel is silly, inconsequential. All of my joys, mean nothing to anyone. My pain, immature. When I'm uncomfortable because it's getting into hot weather and I won't pull out my shorts until it's about 105F, that doesn't matter either. When I get pissed off over anything, I shouldn't be angry. When things work against me, I'm supposed to just deal with it and let the world run me down -- yet again.

Is this why you make posts that I cannot read in your journals? Because I am inconsequential? That's it, isn't it. Because I don't matter, then it doesn't matter if I can read the things you say. Whether or not they're about me. It's why you never call me, isn't it. Why I am always the one who must initiate contact.

I have no understanding of anyone else. Certainly, it's mostly my own fault. But surely, could it be, that you never tell me things? That I have to find out part of why you are who you are from something anyone on the goddamn Internet can read? Why are you comfortable telling everyone else your life's history but not someone you say is "one of [your] best friends", that you say "I love you" to?

How is it possible that people I've never met, or only recently met, care more about what I do than any of you do? How is it possible that these people I consider more of a family than you've ever been?

Why am I expected to put up with seeing someone who seriously hurt me twice a week and I can't be upset over it, yet if it were one of you and your mutual ex, you would be perfectly justified in being angry that he was there?

Oh, but forget it, really. Just more inconsequential ramblings. More silly feelings I have. More stupid thoughts. None of this matters.

It doesn't matter that I'm trying to reach a goal that will keep me in school for probably the next ten years and the rest of my life paying it off. It doesn't matter that even though I could have the certification for chemical dependence counseling in a year, I am choosing instead to go to nursing school. It doesn't matter that I want to work in a psychiatric hospital, where I will probably make next to nothing, instead of getting my Master's and starting my own practice, which would make me significantly more money.

It doesn't matter that I want to work in a place where most people hope they never have to set foot inside. I'm stupid for wanting to go into a job where I might struggle to make ends meet, that's what you're thinking. Isn't it. I should stick with one thing and do only that. I should choose between psychology and medical, and go with whichever one will make me the most money.

But what about what makes me happy? Oh, wait. I forgot. That's one of those silly, meaningless emotions I have. It doesn't matter if I do something that makes me happy or not, because whether I'm happy or not doesn't matter. I just have to always be happy.

Am I only your "friend" because it's convenient? Because you can get things out of me. Because you know that I'll spend more money on your birthday than you will on mine. Christmas, same concept. Because you know that I care more than you do. Than you ever will. Because I'm an easy target. Because you need someone to blame all the bullshit and drama on.

I cannot have any complaints. My parents have been married for thirty years, never divorced. They don't argue a lot, and they love me. We live in a big house, I dress well, we must have loads of money. I drive a nice car (finally). I have an iPod. I have my own computer. I have a mobile phone. I don't constantly fight with my siblings. I have a bed to sleep in every night, food in the house that I can eat if I get hungry. I have a job.

Never mind anything that has to do with that, except that that's what my life looks like. Never mind that home is where I hate myself the most.

Why can't you settle for me to just be human?

Is it because you all secretly hate me?