No one wants to listen to me. Everyone behaves condescendingly and critical towards me. When I ask to be heard out, no one listens to me. The only thing I get in return for my calls for help are condedscending remarks and criticisms. I did not ask for this.

Everyone wants to control me. When I tell people my problems they respond only by projecting their own problems onto me and blaming their own mistakes and attitudes on me.

I want respect. And if I were to gain respect, I would give in return... but everyone expects for me to respect them beforehand. They say I need to be the "bigger man" and take the initiative. What about them? Why can't they follow their own advice? What excludes them from following the golden rule of reciprocity?

People assume I hold myself in the highest regard. They make false assumptions about me. When I react in accordance with their bad judgements, they regard me as an emotional, and immature person. If I am cut, would I not bleed? When I attempt to justify my reaction towards their claims, I only fall deeper into their trap by playing to their whims.

What have I done that is so wrong that so many people want me to suffer? Is it my personality? They call me arrogant, those hypocrites. In fact, it takes an arrogant man to point out the arrogance of another, or at least claim it. It takes one to know one.

The way people have treated me throughout my life is ingrained deeply in my subconscious mind. Do not correct me as to the proper usage of of the term "subconsciousness". My mind is already critical enough of me as it is. It pains me deeply to think. Whenever I think, my own mind hurts me with its criticisms. It treats me the same way the world treats me. I feel as if I am an imprint of the world's judgement of me. I am the battered rag doll of the world's rage upon itself.

Stop calling me 'angsty'. Stop calling me names. Stop blaming my thoughts and my present condition on 'immaturity' and 'hormones'. Stop being in denial about my existence. Stop ignoring my problem. Stop ignoring me. But the truth is, you could care less about me. No one cares. Those who try to care refuse to understand. They do not truly care. I try to make them care but they refuse to listen. No one cares. Regardless of all that I said here, I will still be given the stereotypical connotation of being a teenager. Ignorance is everywhere. I too am ignorant, for having the wishful assumption that someone actually cares.

I feel persecuted. Imprisoned in my own mind. I am ready to die, but I fear that even in the solice of death, my life will come back to haunt me. There is no reason for me to ascertain what death holds in store for me, other than the eternal silence it seems to promise. Were I to allow myself to be consumed by the maw of oblivion, the life that I leave behind would only be judged more harshly in my death than when I was alive.

Perhaps my problem is ego. My pride. My self-esteem, however battered it may already be. I care too much about what the world thinks of me. About how it treats me. But I am only human, do I not deserve the same love and compassion as any other human?

It may be easy for some to suggest a detachment from the arbitary values the world has placed upon my life. A transcendence of my existence to a higher mode of thought. But alas, regardless of all the wisdom I may possess (Stop criticizing me! I am humbled enough as it is. I have a voice, I deserve to be heard. Do not silence me.) I find myself trapped in the cell of my own mortal shell.

The bleakness of my existence is piercing my mind. My only wish is to be heard, but that is wishful thinking. Release me.