Picking up the pieces

This week I’ve been falling apart.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me anymore and I don’t know how to fix it. I’ve just being feeling unbelievable down about everything and I can’t snap out of it.

Things have gotten so bad that this week I couldn’t pull myself together and I made my mom call up to school and have them let me leave early; which was extremely complicated to explain, considering I didn’t have a rational reason for being that way. But, then again, being a teenager isn’t about being rational. Blame it on the hormones.

And then I went home, sat on the couch with a pint of ice cream and cried. Which I know, I know, is ridiculous, especially when I have nothing real to be crying about. But, I didn’t know what else to do. So, I decided to act like a heartbroken teenager from a chick flick. Which I hate.

I hate being so pathetic and broken because I refuse to be that girl.

I refuse to sit around and cry over nothing.

I’m going to just pretend that I only got that way because I’ve been running on fumes lately, but a small part of me knows that it runs deeper than that.

Life’s not simple.

And neither am I.