Strength

(NOTE: I AM NOT TALKING ABOUT SELF-HARM. DON'T MAKE THAT ASSUMPTION)

Ha. Ha. I don't have it. Not right now. I want to punch a wall.
It's easy to dress up language in comforting metaphor and clever syntax, but the fact is that plain and simple I'm hurting, and I have been for a long time. I don't know what to do about it without seeming pathetic. This has been a long time coming, but nobody was expecting it. Shocker. I can usually control myself, and I almost had it, but then one stupid comment made me lose it. Just for a few broken sobs and I was out of the bathroom, confident as I walked into Solstice, and away from the prying eyes of my sister and friends.
I've dissappointed my mom and my siblings by not telling them what's going on after they heard about the little incident, but what am I supposed to do, give in? I can't. I've got another year and a half, and then I'm free. From expectation, from everything. I get a new start, where I can be as confident as I want to be.
I'm sick of not knowing what I'm writing. Hell, if I could control what I wrote, I would have written short stories and insightful posts about real life things and something more than the jumbled mess of my screwed up mind, but no, you're stuck with a teenager that cannot muster a metaphor to her non-fiction screwed up feels. My diction is lacking too. No Honors Sem material here.
Don't worry, in real life I'm smiling and funny and make stupid comments in class. Some of you know that. Most of you don't.
If you don't know me well, you're freaked out by this. If you do know me, this should be disturbing. I've hardly been so open in real life, let alone on a blog. If you wanted to see the real screwed up me, here I am. Wonder what you think.