Why do I bother with...anything? I know that if I try to talk to someone in real life, they look around for a better offer. If I need a hug, they all turn their backs to me. If I say something stupid, they all instead of forgiving me, never let me forget it and move on. If I reveal a secret (like these: I still have a blankie, but I don't use it to suck my thumb, I just sleep with it in my arms, I have a nightlight, I never took it out, I lay awake sometimes and just cry silently, in the still of the night so no one hears my despair and pleas for help, some kind of help, I've tried giving myself bruises and failed, no one knows what I'm really suffering-they all see my 'happy face', and I'm only rarely actually happy) they don't be supportive, they tear me down with looks. I'm at the end of my rope, I've about had it. I don't know what to think about myself and life anymore. Is it good? Bad? I don't know anymore. And I don't even care that I just told the world secrets that not even my own mother knows.