I swear, I’ve got no one.

I’m sitting here alone. In my room. Let me draw the setting. It’s a room colder than ice. It’s empty. It’s plain. It’s lonely. It’s dark. The walls are empty, and the cold New York wind sneaks through the air conditioner vents. The radiator is broken and the sound of my CPU hums in sync with the clacking of my keyboard. It’s quite depressing. My fingers are numb—fist throbbing in pain. My feet no longer exist, the frosty air has overcome me. The only thing pleasant, is the fruitful scent of my room. I’m shivering. I can feel the goosebumps crawling across my skin, over my body.

I sit here and continue with my daily routine. As if nothing is wrong, and everything is fine. People believe me. Trust me they do. But the few people that do know, not much effort is given or shown. I sit and think about what I have in my life. The chills trickle down my spine as I try to understand what I can appreciate.

I have all these material things, but what do they mean without another warm human being’s care and affection? I have family. I have friends.

My family? Oh. My father doesn’t speak to me, my mother only complains. But I can’t bad-mouth them about their lack of affection. I know why it’s not present. And I don’t blame them. I won’t accept it, and I refuse to accept it. Why? Because if I accept it, then I’ll actually have remorse for all the shit I’ve caused. Not the right thing to do, I know. But I’m working on changing it. Procrastinating, and flipping the script so I’m the victim. But in the end, I know I’m wrong for doing so. I hate who I am, and I don’t deserve what I’ve been given.

My grandmother. She’s a sweet, kind woman. How is it, that Asian parents don’t show affection until after they grow old and their children have children. Is this their idea of tough love? Their way of raising us to be strong? Who knows. My grandmother is lovely, but everything is a joke to her. I cry, and she laughs at me for crying. I get angry, she laughs because I’m upset. But when I don’t come home. When I don’t speak to her. She begins to ask if I hate her. If I’m upset at her. And my honest to God answer, is no. Never, can I ever be upset at my grandmother. Yes, she annoys me sometimes, but all is forgiven. I love her dearly, but she doesn’t speak English. And the only language she speaks and understands, I can barely slip out the basics.

My sister, that fucking conniving ass spiteful bitch. I hope she’s tortured and raped in hell. I hate her with all my passion. I swear the day that I murder her, that day will come. I will go to prison if it means removing that bitch from this world. But that would be pointless. Because she’s only a bitch towards me, and that wouldn’t help anyone. Because everyone seems to love her so much more, than they do me. My parents. My family. Our friends. Everyone. Why? Because I’m the family fuck up. I’m the one that fucked up, but never learned. And her, she’s the one that fucked up, and cleaned up her act. She’s the one that gets away with being a fucking prick. And I’m wrong to get upset. She’s rude. She’s inconsiderate. She’s ruthless. I swear, she thinks it’s okay to disrespect me regardless of the situation. We would go one day without seeing one another, and the moment she gets home, I have to deal with her explosive attitude directed towards me. I’ve done nothing to provoke her. Nothing. And I promise, not even the slightest thing. She just feels that I am her inferior, merely because I am younger. By a year. One fucking year. I know it sounds minor. I know it sound pathetic. But the level of shit I have to put with because of her, is beyond metric measurements. I could write a whole book about how much I loath her. And I mean loath. Abhor. Despise. HATE.

These people. These people complain to me. They complain that I don’t spend time with them. They complain that I don’t update them. They complain that I’ve forgotten about them. They complain that I’ve shown no effort. But the thing is, I’ve put way to much effort. I always make sure they’re all happy and dandy. I don’t care if it makes me unhappy. I don’t care if I have to jump through flaming hoops. I will go through hell and back to make them happy. Why because they’re my closest friends. The term, “best friend” is over-used. It’s lost it’s meaning. And if I ever do use it. And genuinely mean it, then that person damn well would go through hell twice, live there and back for me. And hell, you know, that I’m sure of it. But I don’t use that term. I do, but only because it’s easier to say. But I’m sitting here, colder than a naked man in the arctic ocean. With so much to say. So much to release. So much I want to cry about. And how pathetic I feel. How emotionally unstable I always am. How I’m tired of hiding it all. How hiding everything has gotten so much harder throughout the years. How all I wanted was to be happy. And with the life I live, I can barely be content.

But I have no one. No one to go to. No one to talk to. No one who will understand. And no one who will truly care. Yeah, they’ll comfort me, but only because they feel obliged. They’ll say a few cliché lines and hope I fall for their façade. They’ll see that I’m upset, and ask what’s wrong. Only because they’re curious. Not because they care. And after listening to me mope for a minute or less, their only resort is to agree and start talking about themselves. I know I sound selfish, but I want one moment. Just one moment where someone is willing to hear me out, and not tell me everything I’ve heard before. I know it’s pathetic to whine about shit like this, but sometimes, I just want to do the wrong thing and let it pass. Learn from it in the end. I’m tired of trying to be two steps ahead of myself. I’m tired of trying to protect myself. I just want someone to listen. And not just listen, but I want feedback. What’s the point of talking to someone if all they do is say, “mhm,” and agree. I’d much rather write “mhm” and “that’s true” across my wall and speak to it.

Fuck it. I can’t do this. Why am I so weak.

I guarantee you no one is going to read this post. At least not all of it.

‘Cause no one cares. Truly cares.