I feel like I'm so close to breaking

but nothing about that matters to anyone. No one even notices. And I can't let anyone notice. Or I try to and they don't care. All I want is some peace & quiet & something to move my life forward. I'm just stuck. STUCK. And everything just repeats repeats repeats. From all my life. Always. And I'm not good enough for them. It doesn't matter what I do. I can't be what they enjoy because I am who I am and I love that I am. But then I'm alone and alone and alone. Just when I start to feel like part of something I'm not good enough anymore and then I'm forgotten. Except when they randomly remember I exist. Oh, hey, you. blah blah. No bye. No reply. Just gone. But there for everyone else. Just not me. And I don't usually write like this. usually i'm all about the formalities and the punctuation and the truth and what's right and proper and that's never good enough for anyone, even when that's how it is supposed to be. I'm the wrong one. I'm the one who should be quiet, not the people who are noisy who I know should be quiet, who the law says should be quiet. I'm the problem. How does that make any sense? How am I the wrong one? My brain cannot compute that. I know the truth. The truth doesn't matter, except when they want it to. Then it does. But not when the laws and morals and rules are sitting right there, quietly whispering that things must be this way. And we've put up with so much and now they say this isn't anything so why make a bother? But I think the little things add up to big things which can't be tamed if you didn't ask the little things to stop. Start with the little things & you won't get to the big ones. But that doesn't matter. Why not let the little spark build to a fire & then we'll throw a tea cup-ful of water on it & that will put it out. Right. Since that's always worked before. And you never notice that I've been right and right and right and right and right. That you were wrong about them because you are naive and think they will be men of their word and have honor and be moral. And every time you are wrong. I have yet to see you right and me wrong but you always say I'm wrong and that they will prove you right. Pay attention. Why can't you pay attention? It is very simple and logical and easy. Squash the little things and there won't be big things. Yet I can't utter a word because you've forbidden me to while they shout and scream and produce a cacophony of NOISE. But my little rational whisper is NOT ALLOWED.

And I'm going to break apart. Or maybe I finally see a reason why people lose themselves in alcohol and drugs and nothing. Maybe that is easier than trying to follow what is right and true and lawful and moral because no one cares anymore except me and you don't care that I care.

And you fail to notice how quiet I've been after nearly breaking apart several times. I've been stretched to the point several times but you always tell me to change how I deal with things, essentially change who I am, like I'm not good enough. You can't expect me to believe in what is Right over here but let this slide over there. I'm not that person. I can't do that. I can't do it in only one part of my life and not the other. I am who I am. I think being lawful, proper, good, moral, truthful, RIGHTEOUS, is the way to be. But over here you say I should slide & not let it bother me that they aren't doing that? I can't do that. How can I do that? How can I allow that on my conscience when it is such a bother that they are making noise.

Maybe, just maybe, this is the only thing I have left to hold on to in a life that never works out, where nothing has ever worked out. Not love or a job or being on my own or friends or plans, or excitement or that thing that was such a joy in my life, which is working out for everyone else but once again I'm not what they want so they forget I exist until they remember for a tiny moment and then forget when I reply. But none of that matters to anyone but me. And I don't think it ever will but I'm stuck and I don't know how to get out of this feather bed which is like a hitting slump in baseball, easy to get into and hard to get out of. But finding a bobby pin on the floor won't do the trick for me. That's just a funny little thing I do which doesn't mean anything except in my head.

So I'm left with a little dish of bobby pins which I've collected but collections mean nothing when no one will listen.