Something just occurred to me.

I'm just writing more and more on this blog that nobody's ever gonna see, and it'll just be a million or maybe even a billion 1s and 0s floating around in the internet, not that that has anything to do with what I was going to say. I always see people saying they wish they could go back to the old them, the innocent them, the younger them. But not me. I don't think I've ever been happy, or innocent. I think this thing lingering on me has always been there, since birth. Maybe it stuck to me on the way out of my mother, maybe not even the nurses could wash it off of me, and not even my father could cut it off of me, not even if he had ever stayed. Frowning has become easier than smiling, but that can't be very metaphorical since it's true. Frowning is sort of a natural thing our faces do, when we're truly relaxed, not trying to look a certain way for any eyes. It's funny how humans are like that. Monkeys actually smile out of aggression, it'd be interesting if people did that too. If frowning was considered friendly and smiling was a threat, maybe I'd be more approachable then? Is that a depressing thing to say? I'm not trying to be, just writing what I'm thinking. I wonder what my father would do if he ever met me. Would he try to avoid me, or would he cry and apologize for not being able to teach me how to ride a bike, and that I had to teach myself, or that he wasn't there to raise me, and that I had to raise myself. Would he introduce me to his family? Would they even like me? Would I be a reminder to his wife about his past mistakes, would all of those squealing little kids look up to me? The way I looked up to older kids when I was a squealing little kid too. I've been picking at this teensy tiny scab on my nose for the past few days, and sometimes that's what my dad is to me, a healing scab that I forget until I look at myself in the mirror, and I pick at it until it stings and bleeds. I'm not sad that he isn't in my life, as far as my memory goes he never even existed, just one of mom's friends from when I was a baby. In that pink lacy baby book he's only a stranger, holding up a baby that was never me. But sometimes when I think about how If I do ever get married, there will be no one to walk me down the isle, and no family of mine at the reception. If I do ever have kids, they will be lacking grandparents on one side, but maybe the other side will be enough to make up for it. And maybe my partner's family will take me in, and if not, I'd have my partner. But let's say I never meet a person like that for me. Then that would mean there would be nobody on both sides. Nobody to walk me down the isle, and nobody waiting at the end, nobody in the seats watching, and nobody at the reception. Nobody holding my hand in the hospital, comforting me through the pain and screaming and blood, and nobody coming out of me. I would just go through every phase of my life alone, and maybe people would come in and out to say hello before they leave. These are pretty sad thoughts for being a fifteen year old girl with "Her whole life ahead of her". But how am I supposed to be happy about that? When I can see it in front of me and I don't like what I see. When I look in the mirror and contort my face until I don't recognize it. When I take a small razor blade and draw little cuts onto my contorted face, and maybe somebody would ask me what happened and if it hurt, and I would shake it off to look strong. "Oh this scar? I was at a party with my friends dancing and I fell over! And this one my cute little cat gave me, and this one? Oh that's just from when my sister scratched me when we were kids! And this one is from when I fell down hanging out with my friends a few weeks ago! We were laughing about it it didn't hurt!" Last night I had a dream, that I was perfect and pretty and liked what I saw when I looked down in the shower, and that I was not alone, and instead I was very happy, and I had a family that I recognized when I called them mom and dad. And then I woke up and tried to fall back asleep but I couldn't. I just had to open my eyes and see the grey light from the clouds coming in through my balcony, and the food on my desk (which I cleaned today) rotting, like I opened my eyes to a mirror.