En tekst om det å ikke passe inn.
Iīm tired. Tired of being me. You have probably felt the same way quite a few times yourself. I guess you canīt really go through life without feeling that way at least once or twice. Itīs in other words fairly normal, but it still sucks. I have been tired for some time now, a little over fourthy years to be exact. Now, that canīt be good, can it? I donīt know how many nights I have been awake, thinking about why. Why has this feeling of tiredness been so unbelievably strong all these years? I think I have come up with an answer to my question now, and itīs really quite simple. Itīs because I donīt fit in. Iīm not like one of those who say that just to have an exuse for their longing to die, I really mean it. You still donīt believe me? Well, listen to this; Iīm fourthy years old and Iīm still living with my highly beloved mother, the best job I have ever had was as a stamplicker, and I have never ever had any kind relationship with a man in my entire life (unless you count my male dog Gergor, but I guess you donīt). And on top of that Iīm a woman. Now, how many times have you heard about a woman living at home with her mother at the age of fourthy? Letīs be honest, if you ever hear a sad story like this one, the narrator is usually a man. In other word, the man is the one who is living the tragic life. Well, not in this one. And that, to me, makes it fair to say that I really donīt fit in. Anywhere.
You may ask yourself, again and again while youīre reading this story, why on earth my life is the way it is. I canīt really help you with an answer. Some people are made targets of really early in life, and I was one of them. The other kids decided they didnīt like me, and I have been a lonely soul ever since then. But, thatīs not the worst part. The worst part is disliking myself for who I am. The worst part is looking myself in the mirror and wishing to break it only to cut myself with the glass afterwards. Itīs sad, I know, but my feelings are beyond my control.
I have never been happy, at least not fully. I was happy when I stole my dog from outside a nice house, and I was happy when I finaly was able to run out of my secondary school for the very last time. I remember crying like it was any other day of the year, but this time it was out of joy and not sadness. However, both those times I experienced a kind of fake happiness, the feeling was only temporary. It didnīt take long for the sadness to come and wash the happiness away.
You may wonder what kind of a person I am. What my personality is like, and how I look on the outside. Iīm quite sure you believe me to be very ugly, both on the inside and outside. Itīs normal to assume that I guess. Iīm not going to bother telling you about my appearance, whatīthe point? Soon it will be on the bottom of the river, and I will probably look horrible then, with my eyes wide open and everyhing. When it comes to my personality, Iīm a quiet woman, and I was a quiet child as well. I spend nearly all my time thinking, and that probably isnīt very good for me. My thoughts get mixed up, and I get confused. I have always looked at myself as a rather nice person, but only my mother has ever seen that side of me. Well, I guess my dog has also. I care about people, even when they donīt care about me. Some would call that very stupid, and I would have to agree.
I have never been loved, and I never will be. So, Iīm saying goodbye now. Iīm saying goodbye to the world I hate to hate. Iīm shouting bye to the grey grass, and the even darker sky. Iīm stepping on the ugly flowers on my way out of this place. Good bye to all of you, you will never have to look at me again. You donīt understand me, you think Iīm a wuss. Well, you have probably never felt how it is to be unloved...
Teksten er hentet fra Daria.no, www.daria.no