Journal thing 7/24

Second Place Nicky

I draw, write, and I try to have fun. I’m sixteen, I’m allowed to have fun, but I’m also allowed to be upset, and I’ve been upset for a very long time.

I will write because I can, I will draw because it’s the only thing I’ve been praised for, I’m not lucky or smart, not athletic or musically gifted, no clubs or personal goals. Paper and pencils seem to be my only reason. What else is there.

I like to make friends, I always carry extra pencils, paper, and different types of chargers in hopes that someone might ask, and I used to get excited whenever someone sat next to me. I don’t think I was very good at making friends, but I am grateful for the few people I was able to keep long term connections with, I think I would’ve been happier if I wasn’t constantly reminded that I am always second choice.

I could message someone all night, stay on call for hours but still they always had to remind me that it was just because their other friends were busy. I could laugh with someone for a whole class period, then I must be reminded that it’s because their friend was absent. One of the best days I’ve had was going out with a friend to a fair, we went on all kinds of insane rides and I really had fun, but then she just had to remind me that I was just a “pity invite.” I don’t know why she felt the need to say that, I know it must’ve been a joke, like something I shouldn’t’ve taken seriously, but it’s still something I cannot forget. I wonder if there was something wrong I did, like some divine interference, or maybe I was just cursed. I’d rather accept some supernatural curse before thinking it’s all for no reason. It seems no matter how hard I try; I will never be a first choice. Not even my mothers.

I can admit that I am far from perfect, there’s many things I am working on to better myself and help myself grow as a person, but I am still just a kid. I’m allowed to be upset and irritated, I’m sure all kids my age does, but when my mornings start with “make me a coffee, what’s everyone doing? What have you done today? How’s my son? What’s my son doing?” instead of a “good morning,” I feel my frustration could be relatable.