A More Creative and Depressing Entry

I wrote this in a notebook I carry with me at play. It's not as bad as it says it is, but when you write you oftentimes exaggerate the truth, and I was really caught up at the moment.


Sort of distant... far away... but do I care?
Why should I? I am above all who stand around me. I deserve better than the filth they dish out... Yet I care... So much. I long for their comfort, their friendliness, their acceptance. But oh! How far away I feel! I'm sure none of them notice... one way or the other. They do not notice my existence, therefore they do not notice my feelings. My feelings of abandonment, of shame, of longing. They see nothing. They are blind. And deaf... until I do something stupid. Then they laugh. They laugh at my foolishness, my naivitee, my utter stupidity.
And when my moment of humiliation is done, they go away from me, and I am left alone again. So alone. And I cry. yes, I cry. I cry for thier utter ignorance. Their ignorance of me and their ignorance of what is good for them. And I cry for my sake. I cry because I know how selfish I am. I cry thousands of tears of guilt at my own stupid conceit. I cry, because I shouldn't be crying.
While I am there, I smile, but the smile is plastic, covering what I really feel. Hollow smiles. I don't think anyone has seen a genuine, happy, honest-to-goodness smile on my face. If they have, it's on the rare occasion when I feel wanted and accepted, usually with a close friend. Instead, they see this smile with a HINT -- a shadow -- of sorrow. And if they had any decency at all to notice, they'd see it.
If any of them do see it, they pay no heed. "It's just Helena again. Probably being emo about Thaddeus again." But it's NOT just Thaddeus. in fact, my pain in his rejection may decrease tenfold if I knew there were others who cared for me. Others I admire and emulate and rspect and idolize. Thaddeus is only one of a great list of people.
I would just like a moment to know I was worth someone's time.
I sound so spoiled, selfish, conceited, and self-pititful. It was wrong of me to write this.