I am someone. But not someone like everyone, I'm someone who wants to be different for they're selfishness. I hate that but I can't change. I'm just too fucking lazy to change my way of thinking. I'm too lazy to become someone better. What is the point of doing so if no one else is changing when they know they're making me suffer. I don't care anymore. Or do I ? I don't know anymore. I'm too tired to find the answer. But what am I tired of ? I always stay in my bed, looking at a stupid screen, talking to people I don't even know. But these people I don't even know are the people I love more than I could think. They're my friends. They're my happiness source. But what am I to them ? I guess I'm just an annoying burden who always talks about the same subject. That's what my parents think of me. I'm certain of that. Maybe the friends I managed to made outside of my house think the same. They're waiting for me to crack. They all want me to die. They just want to know if I'm serious when I just want to fucking kill myself. But I never do it. I'm too tired to do it. I just want to sleep all day. But I want to talk my friends behind those screens. Is it because of them that I feel this way ? After all, I still was an happy girl before I got my first social medias, three years ago. And now, what am I ? A sad boy who just stares at a screen all day while listening to songs about suicide, drugs, sex, depression and even murder. I can't even say I'm depressed even though my psy told me I might be. But she can't diagnose me. She just listens to me talking about me getting bullied. And it's been two years since I see her. It only felt like two weeks. She's not making things change. I want to know why I'm so tired of everything. I want to know and I want it to change. My only way out right now, is to talk to my friends and write all of this down. My parents don't seem to care. But it's understandable; my mom is also feeling down. But my dad... All he does is coming to my room and asking me what I want to eat or which book he has to buy me. He then leaves me. He leaves me in the darkness of suicidal thoughts and my imagination. That imagination that helps me a lot right now. But not before. The reason why I was the weird kid of the family ? I wrote books when I was six. But oh God. It's one of the most normal things a member of this family has done when they were that age. But now, people ask me about my stories. And they're impressed by all of this. It's also my way to vent. I create characters with characteristics similar to mines both mentally and physically. But then, my tiredness comes back. I lose all my motivation in one day. And when I find motivation again, it's for something else. I hate that. I hate everything. And the most important, I hate myself more than anyone else.