Ever have one of those days when you just want to remove yourself from the world, one of those days when you're too depressed to cry, your heart too hardened to beat, and you don't even know why? Most of the days of my life recently have been like that. To be honest, I'd rather discuss my feelings over the internet for all strangers to see, instead of my family, because instead of people just sitting there and reading what I have say, and not responding to anything I say, they'll just offer me encouraging words and an "it'll be okay" which doesn't mean anything to me. Strange as it seems, I don't want that, they don't even understand how I really feel. I just want people to sit there, read what I have to say, and go along to do whatever they wanted to do before they stumbled upon my blog. That's all I want. Nothing more. . . prescription drugs haven't helped me much. I've still had thoughts of killing myself and how worthless I must be compared to all the useful people in the world. It's like no one gives a crap about me. Not even my family wants to talk to me, I am always the one in the background who's listening to the conversation. When I try to engage, I am ignored. You may be going, "and the big deal is...?" well, after years of feeling like I'm being ignored, you begin to feel depressed, especially if you're a person like me, who just wants to feel accepted, to the extent that I'd rather die than not be accepted. I realize I ahve an advantage over some people, as I am the best artist in my school, and I do get recognition for that. It's like a disease, whenever I want someone to talk to me, I start drawing. I origanally wanted to keep my drawing talents on a low level, where it wasn't such a big deal. Now it's a HUGE deal. The whole school knows now that I am a good artist. I wish I could just keep my emotions to myself, because it's like my emotions flow into the pencil through my hand and onto the paper, if that makes any sense. The more beautiful/well done a drawing, the more powerful my emotions were during the time of it's creation. To make matters worse, I did a completely riduculously stupid thing and wrote a paper on how much I loved art. Dear heavens, I'm an idiot. The reason that's such a big thing for me is that art is THE most personal thing to me. I feel like such an idiot. It's like the only thing I want to be is accepted, and I'm not. And I'm thrilled whenever someone actually talks to me. People say it's because I'm not a people person. Well, that's true, but I'd be willing to change myself if that meant people talk to me. . . not even people in my youthgroup ever talk to me, except for one, whom I had to ask to listen to me. Perhaps I'm just whining, but at least I'm being honest. The world is someone else, I've known it ever since I can remember, yet it changed. It's not what it used to be. I'm still the same. Is it becuase I'm overweight, or because the world just doesn't like me for no reason? Nothing helps. Don't try to help me, not that anybody wants to, but still, because if you do, I'll know you just had a freak-out moment, finally noticing me, and then, after all this time, trying to talk to me. Don't ask me if I'm okay, because I've never been okay. Never have I been okay. My heart refuses to beat because the freezing wind of life acts like it has no other choice but to turn my heart cold. I don't care if you think you have everything worse than me, which is probably true, but I can't help but feel this way.