Scattered . . .

There was a time where I was severely depressed.  And once I got half way out I had stages of just wanting things.  I was like a bottom less cup that could not be filled.  I am starting to feel that stage of want again.  Which I know will pass, but I have to rant and rave a little.

Why can’t I be the pretty, popular girl?

Why can’t I be the life of the party?

Why can’t my friends just think I am a dream?

Why ask why?

The thing is I do not feel sorry for myself.  I just wish sometimes I was not so caught up on these small things.  You can’t want to be something that you’re not, because you are you.  You cannot get rid of you.  If you don’t like or appreciate yourself why would you expect for someone else to appreciate you?  I just want.  I want to be thinner.  I want to be more charming and delicate.  But alas I am not.  I am sturdy and plump.  I am me.  That just does not seem like enough for the wanting.  Do I think that having what I want will make my life easier?  No.  A lot more fun though.  A whole lot more fun.  Why can’t I just be fun now?  Because I am insecure.  There.  I said it.  Insecure.  So do I want security?  I do want security in myself, because I do not feel that myself is good enough.

Anyway,