I used to cry a lot. 

I used to be the stupid girl who bawled her eyes out whenever someone said something mean. At times, I still do. I used to weep and weep, so pitifully.. Even I despised myself.

Then I started writing.

I would life if I said that the tears stopped coming: they morphed into words. It took long for me to realize, but I was only ever able to write something heartfelt when deep down, my heart needed to cry. Like now. Today, when I had free time... I just wrote. I wrote so much and with shaking hands. But the ed up part in this is that...this time, I cried, too. My sight is blurry and my nose is all stuffed. How pathetic... 

but.. does it really matter? Will someone really see that something is wrong when all I do is curl up in my room and cry? Oh, I know the answer already. But it's not like it matters, you know. I..stopped caring but I find it hilarious when people take offense when I say that. It's funny, you know because I really did. Can't make time for me? Okay, I don't care. Have something else to do?  Someone else's words are more interesting then mine? Used to it. Whatever. It's not like any plans go the way we want them, heh? It's just that... when it's ME putting OTHER things in front of people...friends, family. Oh, how messed-up that is. Everything is always more important. I'm always second. Or third. 

Even on days that should be celebrated.