I Was Wrong

Tonight (and I will be completely honest with you), I was feeling really down. I noticed that my life is a series of ups and downs. Like seriously, I go from being really happy about everything to really depressed.
The world constantly disappoints me.
Or, at least, this is what I told my mom tonight while sitting on the kitchen counter in the growing twilight, absent-mindedly sweeping away the crumbs of toast from the granite tops while counting them as they fell. And this is what I am saying to you now as I sit in my bed; my gray jeans uncomfortably finding a position in the fluffy white blanket as I listen to "A Dream Within A Dream"  by Oren Lavie. Oh, the irony. (Look up the song by the way.) (It's a good one.)
I asked my mom, "Isn't this what everyone feels? Aren't you disappointed with the world?"
She said, "No. There's disappointments, but I never feel utterly uncomfortable and disappointed with reality itself. I'm sorry for you."
Why is she sorry? I haven't known any different. This is how I've lived for as long as I can remember. This is how I have lived as I watched my friends run away at recess from me when I was seven. This is how I have lived as I drew a picture in the third grade, only to find out someone was a better artist. This is how I have lived in my classes in school- in subjects that I'm actually good at (not math.) I write a story. Someone else gets a better grade. Sorry, I'm not social. Sorry, I won't share my work in class. Sorry, I actually don't care about the fame. Sorry, I couldn't give two s***s about this class. This is how I live while listening to "Styrofoam Plates" by Death Cab For Cutie, tastelessly wondering in my mind if I should give a cheesy love letter to some guy who would probably not care if I give it to him or not. (I'm slowly chewing the words in my mind: Would he think this letter was ridiculous?) This is my life. And I'm okay with it.
Actually, I'm not. Sorry, that complete sentence was a lie, too. Oops.
I crawled up into my frigid bedsheets tonight hoping someone (my imaginary boyfriend or something) would lay down beside me and let me rest my head on their chest. They would stroke my tangled brunette hair and kiss me on the forehead and trace my back with their fingers. No one came.
But, of course, no one came. It was all in my imagination. It is all in my imagination. I cried and my mom apologized for not understanding.
I told her I simply didn't see a point in living anymore. The clouds outside looked still and contrasted greatly with the emotional contractions my broken heart was feeling. I told her that I didn't think I could go on.
Last night, I walked to the edge of the woods around 11:30 PM. I was sitting on a dock by a lake and all my friends had gathered around and were cuddling with each other. All of a sudden, I didn't feel like hanging out with anyone. I didn't want anyone there. I didn't want anyone to cuddle and I didn't want anyone to talk to me. I said in a monotone that I was going to stand by the woods. No one followed. And they probably thought I didn't want anyone to follow. They might've not even known I was upset. And while I stood there looking at the pine trees silhouetted by a magnificent sea of stars above, I felt the familiar saltwater drip from my eyes onto my chapped lips. I didn't want someone to follow me or come up and tackle me from behind in an effort to cheer me up. I wanted someone to come hold me. I wanted someone to wrap me in their arms and tell me that they knew I was upset. They understood. They would come to me.
Yet, no one came.
Two of my friends came to me that night talking about their problems. How could they fix it?
"Can I talk to you about something?"
"Sure, what's going on?" I would say. I love helping people. I just wish someone could help me a little bit. It's strange because I feel that people feel a connection to me. They feel I understand them. I can help them see something from a new perspective. I think it makes them feel better. Yet, I've never felt truly understood by anyone. I don't feel like I can talk to anyone because tiny, simple phrases like, "Your life is perfect," restrict me from saying what's going on in my life. I don't feel like my thoughts about me jumping into a stormy ocean and feeling my body get tangled by seaweed while I struggle for oxygen are a very good reply to someone's rant about their unfortunate life. I don't feel like I have the place to say that. I need to inspire. I need to uplift. I need to let them rant. It's not my place.
I'm constantly searching for that mysterious someone (doesn't have to be a guy) to come into my life, so I can actually talk and feel understood somewhat. So, I don't feel so disappointed.
But, while we're on the topic of guys, I've recently been thinking that maybe I'm not supposed to get married. I would like to, but I also feel like whenever a guy likes me they tell themselves, "Woah, she's awesome. Even if she doesn't like me back, we'll work out someday." Then, they leave. They realize I'm too complicated. They can't figure me out. They give up. I give up on myself. It's okay.  Again, I haven't lived a life any different. (That sounded really depressing. I'm sure I'll get married someday.) My sisters think I'm mean. My friends think I'm moody. My teachers think I'm quiet. I hate definitions.
And here I am sitting in my bed, picking feathers out of my only friend's head (spoiler: He's a stuffed dog named Beasley that I got when I was six.) and listening to "Song For You" by Alexi Murdoch. I'm writing this and I'm thinking.
My mom told me I shouldn't give up on life. She said that she knows what it's like to feel like the world would just be better off without you. (I mean, if I died right now, everyone would be initially sad. They would move on in life in a decade. They would not stay permanently depressed and I hope they would not stay permanently depressed.) She said there's people like me who see things differently. She hopes I'll find someone like that someday. I just don't understand. If I saw someone say that they wanted to go stand by the woods, I would follow them. I would make sure they were okay. I constantly feel shut down, because when I notice people are upset, they snap at me. I don't know what to do. I wouldn't do a lot of things that my friends do. I wish I was like Beasley. I wish I could just lay there like a sack of potatoes and feel someone pull feathers out of my hair. I wish someone could just pull my brain out of my ears.
I told my mom that at funerals people typically think: "I should've said (this) to her." "I should've gone on (this) trip with her." "I sure do miss her."
At funerals I think: "She would've really liked this." "She would've liked someone to go stand by the woods with her." "She would've liked someone to understand." "What would she have liked?"
What a pain it is to feel so much.