My Sarcastic Thoughts

Yes, oh-so-knowing sister. Let's make me the villain of this situation. Let's make me feel like you don't care about me as a person, rather than the cause of your problems. It's okay though, because I already know you don't care. I know you blame me for our father not having enough money for your dresses. I know it's my fault you had to take time to visit me when I was in foster care.
I know you aren't scared to tell on me for smoking. I know you'd be more than happy to. But why? You want me to be just like you want me to. Why? I've never heard a word of affection, any actions proving you care about me unless I have something you want. I've never heard you say "Brenda, I love you," unless I'm up and walking towards the kitchen. I've never heard you say, "Hey, little sister! Have I ever told you how much it means to me that you came back to this hellhole just to be closer to me? No, Brenda, I wasn't aware that you chose to hold your tongue for the family's sake."
I know you'll snitch, too. But I don't care anymore. Anything will be better than living in a prison.
Let's unlock the sound-proof rooms the Voices are kept in and let them run free. Their insults won't hurt at all. I can handle it. The memories they project onto the walls of my closed-off heart don't exist. I can block them from making me want another smoke, more cuts.
Who cares if I'm already addicted to both cutting and my cigarettes? It's my fault; I brought this upon myself.
Your vanity is not longer cute, funny. It hurts. More than cutting, more than the bullying I deal with daily.Your constant reminders of who's the prettiest sister, who has the richest boyfriend, and who has the most guys following them, makes me feel fat. Ugly. Monstrous. Insecure. Self-conscious. As if I'm not pretty enough. So   eat less and less and less. But it doesn't matter, does it? You're still the beautiful princess and I'm still the ugly step-sister. No, make that the ogre.
Why can't we just switch roles? How about I be you and you be me, just for a day. An hour, if that's all you want. I just want to feel what you feel. Feel as beautiful as you do. I just want to experience what makes you so confident and attractive. Maybe, if we switch, you'll be able to understand why I do what I do. If I could compact all my painful experiences into five minutes, maybe you'd understand why I cut, smoke, do drugs, everything. You might be able to see why I cry silently, rather than obnoxiously, like you do.
Why do you hate me? I messed up, everyone does. So what? I don't hate you for never being there, being a hypocrite. I never judged you for lying, stealing, cutting.
\Never have; never will.

My Questions

I can hear you whispering; you're rather conspicuous about how you feel. "She's pathetic! She can't even run one  lap around the gym! Have you seen her fall? Fucking hilarious!" But see, it's not funny. It's painful. Do you know how it feels when your ankle and your leg seem to only be connected by a strand of withering muscle? And every time you step down, they reattach? Except it's not a gentle reattachment. It's more like a door slamming-they hit each other with so much force I almost cry.
Do you know how it feels to be the third wheel? "The cute boy wants to hang out with us, Brenna! Let's go!" "No, Alea, he wants to hang out with you. Not me. He doesn't even know my name. I'm invisible, remember?"
I don't have one of those exotic faces or sexy bodies. I have chubby cheeks, sad eyes, no curves, and giant hip bones. I have a spiteful personality, complete with glares and swearing. I do best when I'm on my own; just me and some music, maybe some drugs and regs. I can finally be myself. The same routine I do every day, the one where I just love talking and hanging out, isn't as easy of a show to put on as you might think.
Do you know what it's like to be numb? To be so out of touch with reality that you create your own world inside your mind? Then, when something goes wrong in your secret world, it affects both worlds. both the real one and the one in your head?
Do you understand what I mean when I say medicine can do nothing? Medicine cannot stop the voices in your head that tell you everything you don't want to hear, but you hear anyway. Music cannot drown out the voices, they just scream louder and louder and louder until they're the only thing you ever hear when you're alive?

Random Thoughts

Trying to stop an insult is like trying to stop rain
You can cover yourself with a raincoat or an umbrella
But the rain will still fall
It's the same with an insult
Any protection you use
Any shield you make
Will only keep the insult from your present mind
It will still affect every other part of you
Your emotions, body, heart

Telling an addict their addiction is bad for them
Is like telling a dog that eating a day-old carcass is bad
But they need to do that
If they hope to survive

Making someone feel bad to boost your mood
Is bad, I know
But what if you just make yourself feel bad
In order to feel better?
Is that so wrong?