I can see it in your eyes

I love driving. Correction, I love being driven places. I love being in a car, I love the absolute of silence of some moments when nothing needs to be said. I love being with people in cars.

But I am absolutely terrified of driving. Every time I get behind the wheel, out of the corner of my eye I see a semi ready to smash me into little bloody bits. I clench my fists when we go under overpasses because I'm always waiting for it to collapse. I hate driving myself anywhere, which is why I have put off getting my permit, much less my liscence for so long. I should be driving now. All my friends are. My parents just laugh at first and now are annoyed. I'll have to learn eventually, because I would rather drive than take public transportation. I would rather walk in the rain than take public transportation.

One of my exes almost broke up with me over my contradictions. He said, "I can't date a bipolar disaster." I broke up with him a week later because I couldn't date someone I couldn't trust to stay for any length of time simply for the reason I was myself. I love my contradictions, my strange personality, but I would trade it all just to be like everyone else. To be stable, to not think about some of the things I do because it always pushes people away. I've tried to be like them, normal people, and as much as anyone who reads this who isn't close to me would like to think, there is a vast difference between you and I. (On the surface, since I can't speak of your depth.)

An example? I would get in the car of stranger if it meant getting out of this town. If it meant seeing a different place, doing something different. I would leave everything behind if someone would just come get me. But that won't ever happen. Because:

1. People leave, people change, and I sort of can't live a healthy lifestyle car to car.
2. No one likes me that much to kidnap me. Lol
3. It's sort of...against the law.
4. I have to graduate right?

I don't know. I don't care. I'm going through the motions, I'm wearing all the right expressions. Why couldn't this all happen next year, when two months from now we would be done with everything and could do anything within reason? I can't do this. Live here, with these people, lie to myself everyday. I have a panic attack twice a week now, instead of one every two weeks. Just lies, my parents don't care. They just want to backstab each other as much as humanly possible. I just want to sleep and escape to the world where I can choose to be alone, I can make up the right story, and not be insanely flawed. It's getting harder to trust people, to believe anything anyone says.

Everyone has an angel, someone supporting them. Everyone has a role model, someone to look up to. Everyone has someone they love entirely, completely. What lot did I get stuck with where I had to grow up and never enjoy anything in life? It could be worse. It could be a lot worse, but it's bad now, and I already know, no one is coming to save me.

Smoking is controlled suicide, in that the people who do it know it's bad for them, they know the dangers, but they still do it. But every time they light up, they choose to inhale one more time, to kill off one more branch of bronchioles in their lungs. They could stop, they could say no, they could change. It isn't instant death like jumping from a building, or hanging yourself. It's controlled, slow, and it distracts people for one brief minute from the pain of everything else. At least that's my reason.

Come here boy- Imogen Heap