I'm Sorry

(( I'm sorry for what I am about to do, please ignore it. Since I personally know how shitty it feels to hear this from someone, but I need to say it somewhere or, well I don't even know what.

Two weeks. School has been going on for two weeks. And already shit has gone down. I am shaking as I type this, and I don't even know if I'm crying or not because the tears stay safely in my eyes due to my own stubbornness. I feel alone. I feel empty. And most of all, I feel scared. I feel myself starting to panic on the inside and I can't do a damn thing about. Why? Because it is quite literally not my problem. its all my friend's.
I have been told I give great advice, always have been, and now I am paying the price for it again.
Highschool is probably the worst place for someone like me. Why you may ask? Because I am the one everyone turns to. I am the one you go to for advice. I am the one you complain to about your problems, your fears, your deep down emotions. I am also the one who knows nothing. . . At least that is what they also say.
They call me innocent. The call me naive. Names that they of course mean as compliments, of a little creature that can only be happy, due to their complete lack of understanding of sadness. I take them as complements, half the time, screaming on the inside that they are in no way true. They call me cute, unknowing, oblivious to the way the world works. But I know more then they think. I always have.
Since I was little, my life has always been, in lack of words, perfect. My childhood was the way it should have. I was happy, carefree, I didn't have a clue of what was going on in real life, nor did I care. But I lost those years of ignorant bliss early. . .And no one even noticed. My parents, being fairly young for having a child as old, fought their own battles, their own troubles. And they never hesitated to talk about it. Even if I was in the room. I learned at an early age that life can be cruel. Not through my own experience, but through other's own lives and stories. "Don't worry about it."
"You're too young to be scared about that sort of things."
Those were my answers every time I asked. About what was wrong. About why mom was crying. About why dad had stopped leaving on long trips so he could work in California. Only later in life did I finally learn his job had been lost due to the company going under, and my mother cried because the parents of the kids she taught would assume she had gotten pregnant as a teenager instead of at 21. I didn't know these things. But I knew something was wrong, and it ate away at me every night. I ended up in therapy at age 8 because of frequent nightmares that wouldn't allow me to sleep.
Once again, I learned more then others assumed. I picked up the questions the therapist would ask. The way his expression changed when I described watching someone I love die every night, or that even myself would be killed, only for my own parents to ignore my cries for help, all of the illusions that haunted me in the night. Then I asked him my own question. "How do you know something is wrong with me?"
He had no answer, he simply said, "You don't need to worry about it."
Those words seemed to be a recurring event in my life.
Over the next few months, I had observed enough from the therapist to answer my own questions. I began to pick out certain words, expressions, tones, even body language to help me understand people. I became fascinated with how everyone acted differently. I would sit in my mom's class room, picking up on how the 4 year old children would act. It got to the point where I could predict every emotion they would allow to surface, I could even pick out which kids were about to start crying before their own parents would notice. Now I almost regret practicing it.
I can no longer walk though halls, through streets, through my own house even, without instantly picking out every emotion of the people close to me. The longer I have known them, they worst it gets. It takes me no time to discover they are upset, and I can not just sit by and watch. It started out with making my friends laugh when they were sad. Just making them happy for a bit. Bringing them to smiling again. I filled away each case within my mind, making notes of who liked which joke, which story, or what face made them die laughing. Then, as I got older, the problems grew. My friends began to have sadness that came from being stuck in metaphorical cross roads. So, once again I applied my skills. I became a mediator, I became an advice giver, I would tell them what they needed to hear, what they needed to know in order to make their decisions. I used my parent's and their other friends and relatives stories to give advice, I used handed down wisdom. It was then that I became a lighthouse so to speak for advice seekers. It had always been a burden, taking in others pain and sadness, but nothing I couldn't handle. Anything for my friends. That has always been what I lived by.
Because I became more mature at a young age, as I got older I tried to become blissfully unaware again. There were times when I would have given anything to just stop, to not have to hear about a fight between two best friends, to not be a shoulder to cry on. All selfish wishes of a child, wanting to just be a child again. My conflicts resulted in a perfect cover, I became unaware of my own self. I allowed my mind to remain free and happy, burying all my own emotions and locking them away to make room for my friends problems. It seemed the only way. To everyone, my life was happy, normal, carefree. And it was, it still is. So why do I feel empty? Why do I feel scared? Why do I feel like everything is closing in on me and I can't breath. It was moments like those that I withdrew from my own life again.
Recently, I feel myself being pulled in again.
I have friends in school and out of school, they have a right to feel this way. Their lives have been hurt, the have experienced pain that I have only heard about in stories and recalled memories. I go to school every morning now, checking under their eyes to see that once again they have spent all night crying, glancing at the bandages around their wrists, occasionally counting the number of scars. Each word, cut, and sleepless night. All filed away. All kept for future reference.
Now, I can't help them.
Maybe I have always been drawn to broken things. The loneliest looking prize at the fair. The saddest Goldfish in the ping pong ball in the fishbowl game. I have come to believe that I choose these things, the broken, the sad, because I want to feel broken. I want to help. Once again, the selfishness of a child has still yet to leave me.
Over the past year, one thing has become painfully clear. I know absolutely nothing. I can no longer ask my friends to stop cutting themselves, to try and go to a doctor about their insomnia, to comfort them when once again their life has come crashing down around them. Because they no longer let me.
"You're sheltered, you don't understand anything."
"Innocent, that is what you are."
"How cute Grace!"
"Aww, you're so innocent! Its like you have no idea about the real world!"
Innocent. That word is foul in my mouth. I hate it. I hate every Aww, cute, and naive that is directed at me. I want to scream. They think I can't relate because my life is normal, so they shut me out. The treat me like I know nothing. That I really am just some stupid little girl that needs to grow up but can't because what do I know? My life has been fine. The shit I go through is nothing compared to theirs. This makes me want to cry.
"No! I don't understand! I'm sorry that I don't! But I want to so let me! Explain how it feels! Tell me everything so I can help! Please! I'm sorry I don't feel the same pain! I'm sorry I haven't experienced a parent dying. Or being called names because no one seems to hate me! I'm sorry I can't see reason in cutting myself! Or taking drugs! Or drinking! Please I'm sorry!" I want to shout to the world I'm sorry a thousand times.
"I'm not innocent! I'm not oblivious to the real world! Just don't call me that anymore! Its like laughing in my face and it hurts! It hurts so much! Please just stop!" I want to be able to admit that, but I can't. I can't tell anyone. Why?
Because I have no one to tell.
I am the one people go to for help, I would do anything to make them feel happy, to make them smile, to laugh. I know what it feels like to have problems dumped on you. So I could never allow myself to dump all of this on one person. Nor can I ignore everyone else. I'm in too deep. I know too much. And it is suffocating.
"How can you possibly understand?"
I don't, so help me be able to.
"Don't worry, I'll stop, I promise."
Hah, there is that word again. Don't worry.
"No one understands me. Why should you of all people be able to?"
Because I know how shitty it is to be cast off to the side by people you love when they are in pain. It sucks. It sucks worst then you can imagine. To be told you can not do anything because your life is fine, you're happy, you're not stuck in a depression that makes each day a struggle to live. And for once, I'm going to admit, that I feel like an outcast.
You all assume I have no clue about pain, but I have been listening to it for years.
You all think that I have no reason to feel sad, or upset, because my life isn't crap. But that is nothing I do on purpose, nor is it my fault.
You all think I am happy, that I come out of my shell when I'm sad. But the truth is, my darkest moments are when I feel nothing.
I love my innocence. It is the only thing that can comfort me. And Highschool, as expected, is tearing it apart. My last illusions are fading, life is coming into full perspective, and I can do nothing as everyone leaves me behind with their only words being. "Don't worry about it."
That to me is the equivalent of saying, "Fuck off"
I know it is not meant this way. But years of being teased lovingly with words like,
"Innocent"  
"Little"
"Cute"
"Adorable"
They have left me without reason to believe they are good things. Those words have made me separate from everyone else because they believe I can not understand.
I in no way mean to try to make anyone feel bad, nor am I asking for pity and concern.
For those who may curse me out saying I have no reason to feel like shit, to complain, to want to cry. I am sorry. I want to be able to understand, but I can't.
I don't like to cry.
I don't like to go to people for help.
I enjoy the occasional rant.
And I will always be there for those who want help.
Do not tell me I do not understand. I have heard it before.
I can not understand. But I know people who can.
I have heard their stories.
Their lives.
Their problems and how they have dealt with them.
And I want to help.
So let me.


((I am sorry, but I needed to say this somewhere and could not risk it on my main account. I still do not yet have the courage to let my family I feel this way. If you read this entire thing, I'm sorry for using your time this way. I will always be there for you guys, just know that.))