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=   F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K.   =
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                        What Are You Really Like?
                        -------------------------

  Many times I have been up late on the phone with one random friend or
  another, and quite often I get the question (not in these words, but
  in the general sense) "What are you really like?"

  Do you want to know what I'm really like?

  If you want to know that, then you'd have to know why.

  And if you want to know why, open your eyes, glue your ass to your chair,
  and keep your finger postitioned over that pagedown key.

  ---

  I was the kid who was always picked on. I was the dork who wasn't good
  for anything except to make the little Commie 64's work in elementry
  school. If i opened my mouth to say ANYTHING, some kid four inches taller
  and twenty pounds heavier would come shut it for me. Of course, being the
  first kid with braces and zits in the sixth grade helped it along.

  I was the outcast. Me and my friends are outcasts. I see cliques of people
  running up and down the street downtown, and i compare them to my group
  of friends. We are the outcasts. I the the leader of the outcasts, or so
  i've been told.

  But it wasn't always that way. Very rarely was I able to spend time with
  my friends. I was grounded for weeks upon weeks. I had privledges taken
  away as if they were articles of clothing. Come home five minutes late?
  Blam. You lose your computer for a month.


  Around 7th grade i started running away from home. Frequently. The longest
  i stayed away was a week, but it got worse. I could not control my temper.
  I got in fights even when i knew i had no chance and got the shit beat out
  of me. Didn't matter, i couldn't help it. Eight grade came drugs. Pot was
  my personal favorite. Still is.

  I met the first love of my life. The only, it seems. She dumped me so
  hard i cried for three days on end. Afterwards i was numb. So numb. I
  couldn't feel anything for anyone. And so began the practice of bottling
  up my feelings.

  In 9th grade, i dropped acid for the first time. i started seeing life in
  a different light. Smoked pot every day. Grades dropped, grounding con-
  tinued. I became suicidal and spent my eighth and ninth grade years
  slicing my wrists to see the blood. My parents threw me in a inpatient
  psychiatry unit for a week, to see if it would get better. I let it get
  better just because the people there were worse then me.

  The summer after my ninth grades year, i ran away from home yet
  again and moved in when four friends who got me hooked on crank for nearly
  two months straight. My real friends i didn't see forever, and when i did,
  i was told i looked like a skeleton from so much nose powder and not enough
  food. I swear i almost died one night, after smoking a half ounce
  with three people, i staggered around the house in a stupor, when my room-
  mate told me to take several lines of crank. I passed out for four days and
  didn't fully recover for two months. The same night i set the bathroom on
  fire and moved out the next day.

  Living back with my parents was hell. Smoked more pot. After two months of
  tenth grade, I was tossed into a continuation high school with the types of
  people i hate. Gangbangers, violent crack addicts, the works. I started
  going crazy there, shaving my head in weird styles, then just completely
  off. I hadn't had a girlfriend in two and a half years, and i was still
  hating it.

  I don't really remember my full 10th and 11th grade years except that i
  dropped out of high school after i finish 10th grade. I smoked so much
  pot i became incredibly stupid and forgetful. I bet i would be a l33t h4x0r
  if i could remember half the shit i read. It is now the middle of what
  would be my 12th grade year. My father gave me money to sign up for the
  fall semester several months ago. I took the money and spent it on drugs,
  and dropped out of school after three days. It was four months before my
  parents found out.

  Here i am now.

  And you want to know what kind of person I am?

  I'll tell you.

  I hate people. I hate confrontations. I hate you. I hate myself. I hate
  the people who try to tell me what's best for me. I hate the people who
  envy me because of my lifestyle. I will never tell you how i feel, because
  i don't want you to know my weaknesses. People used to know, but now they
  won't. I will never SHOW you how i feel, because i don't want you making
  fun of me. I hate being judged. You will never see the inside of me. I
  may tell you in a momemt of softness, but soon my shell will harden and
  you will be left to wonder if it's true. It is true, but it amazes you
  because i don't seem like the type. I refuse to release my secrets to
  anyone. People cannot keep their mouths shut. I have withdrawn from my
  family. I can't talk to them anymore, they don't understand. And neither
  do you.

  If you want to know the real me, treat me like a person. Treat me like I
  have feelings, and i want to be known and loved. Don't make fun of me.
  Don't criticize me. If i do or say something stupid, don't laugh at me,
  it will only make you one more person i hate.

  All i'm asking is that someone tries to understand me.

  -anonymous.
  world through T.Y.M.E. 

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