I hate this town. It's cold and callous and just plain mean. No-one really cares wether or not you make it big. They don't care if you drop dead tomorrow. To them, you're just another face in a picture. Another name on a list. Just a number; a statistic. All I want is for one person to stop, notice me and ask 'Hey! Are you okay?' I want them to wait long to hear my response and to actually care what I say. I want them to pick me up, dust me off, and tell me things are okay. I want people to notice the things I do. But most importantly, I want people to notice the things they say. The cold, cutting words that they say. The harshness of their words hurt people more than any physical beating ever could. Wounds heal, bruises and scars fade with time. The emmotional wounds and scars last a lifetime. I came to this town almost 5 years ago, hoping I could make friends and hang out with friendly people. The first thing I remember was the room I walked into. All those eyes; all the icy stares in my direction. These people weren't interested in who I was. They weren't interested in getting to know me. All they cared about was that I was contrary to everything they knew. They were average or worse; I was intelligent. I could, and often did answer questions the teacher asked. They glared at me each time I did. I could feel their angry stares on the back of my neck. One of these people had so much spite for me, that they followed me off of school grounds and tried to beat me up. Had my sister not been there at the time, I fear that she may have done me very serious harm. I never wanted to have to deal with that again. So, I think, that on some subconcious level, I've slowly forced myself to become less intelligent, so that perhaps people would leave me alone. They did. Now I'm simply ignored, no longer a threat, and no longer a psychological plaything of theirs.

I have not accomplished anything of any real value here in this town. My grades are slipping steadily ever lower, and I've failed most of my required classes at least once. I had a shing ray of hope at one point, but that had been extinguished recently...

Her name was Natasha Chance. She cared about how I felt, mostly because she was in the same position. She helped me stand back on my own two feet, after I thought that I would be crushed under the stress forever. I, in turn, helped her to recover from the emmotional cuts and bruises the people of her town had dealt her. It went on for 18 months, in which we enjoyed each other's company, and fantasised about our future together. But, like all things, it didn't last.

A week ago Monday, she said we should break up. My entire collection of hopes and dreams shattered that day. I was alone again, and she moved on with someone from her own town. I couldn't help but feel used. I helped her feel better when she thought no-one loved her. I helped her become less psychologically unstable. She began to fit in. Then an old friend of hers, whom I've never heard of, claims to love her, and our relationship collapsed in the space of two weeks. Now I was alone again, and I began a crash course of reminders about how much it hurts to live here. Now my grades are worse than ever, and soon, I'll have to apply to college.

I want to go home. In the geographical sense, I am home, right now. In the house my mother pays for to keep me safe from the outside world. But in the spiritual sense, I'm not home at all. I'm deep in enemy territory. I want to move back to where I was before this. When I was there, there were people that liked me for who and what I was. I never had to pretend. I never had to paste on a happy face to hide the emotional bleeding inside. There are friends there even now, friends I found on this thing, the internet. There, I can be free to be intelligent and friendly and cheerful..

Not here. Not now.This place is just too different.