Summer, and all the glory that it is not.

I wasn’t happy living in my own house for a long time before college started. I don’t know why I’m so rebellious, because it only leads to heartbreak and sadness and anger and nobody to turn to. I really really hate myself sometimes.

I’m dramatic. I get crap from everybody, even those who are younger than me. I can’t get along with my own family, and I’m pretty sure the entire world dislikes me very much. Or atleast, those who know me probably do, secretly or something. I bet I’d be the first nonimportant persona ssassinated just because I suck. Oh and obviously, I exaggerate too much. Everything I do, whether it’s good or bad, done as a joke or in seriousness, is never received well. I can’t even say good job without people thinking I’m being sarcastic. And then, whenever I find within me a quality that I think is good, people will use it against me as if it were a bad thing. You’re too nice. You’re too innocent. You don’t see your own potential. You’re not vain enough.

Like seriously, what do you want from me? If I’m not nice, then I turn into a selfish arrogant stuck-up dramatic bitch. But if I go out of my way to try to dispell that image, then I’m too nice. And that, too, is a bad thing. Being polite and courteous and helping other people and tolerating their own malfunctioning personalities is also a bad thing. But doing the opposite is, of course, also held against me.

I thought I knew my friends. I was pretty sure I did. Doesn’t stop them from, after having been my best friends and sisters for over 7 years, from turning on me in the blink of an eye.

Ditched by one. No longer in the confidences of another.

She’s my BEST friend. I’m always there for her, and she’s always been there for me. Except for when she had something majorly drastic happen in her life and conveniently didn’t mention it to me until almost a month past. The same girl who went against her mother’s wishes and told me all the things that were happening in her life all throughout high school. The same girl who comforted me and believed in me with nobody else did back when we were in 8th grade and drama consisted of a maliciously anonymous xanga account.

We got through all the stupid crappy unimportant crap.  I thought we were close, we’d defy the notion that one loses his or her high school friends after starting college.

Yeah no, she was just another stereotypical nowyouseeme, nowyoudon’t friend in the end.

The other best friend, yeah that one’s not so much a loss, because it was expectedvery early on. She never did understand the concept of communication and what it means to stay in touch with friends. Even your best friends. Even your sisters.

So now that I am pretty much sisterless and friendless and wallowing in misery in the prison of a dysfunctional home I have, I can safely conclude that I absolutely hate my lfie right now. Is education so important that I can solely "focus on my studies," as my parents hammer into my brain ceaselessly day after day after relentless day, and just survive the rest of..my life…with no close friends?

It doesn’t even matter if people post on this with a "no you’re my friend, don’t say that!" because it doesn’t change how lonely I feel right now. I’m trapped in this hell, and I want out.  

And it hasn’t even been three weeks since I got home yet. If they’re any indication of the torture that’s yet to come though, I don’t know how I’m going to survive. The Pryanka that goes to college as a sophomore is very much going to be a shell of herself.

I can feel my energy to fight back fading away already. I’ve resigned myself to my laptop and my room, and whenever I leave it, all I face is more arguments, accusations, and drama. 

"You’re not a good daughter."

"You’ll never be successful"

"I wish I had a brother instead of..you"

"You’re stupid" "You’re worthless" "You’ll never go anywhere in life"

Over and over and over. There’s only so many times I’m going to resist believing in those words. Only so many times that I’ll ignore them, put on a haughty expression, and pretend they don’t stab me to death a little bit more every single time.

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