The broken me

Neither my teachers nor my parents liked me. My younger sister was a bright student but I was a last-bencher, always laughing and joking around with people. Everyone thought I had an awesome life with luxuries..parents allowing me to buy adult books, a good boyfriend, many friends and pets. In school, I was a normal mischievous student with a good humor and cool personality. Lots of boys had crushes on me. But you know everything was fake and I always used to wear a smiling mask over the original me.....at home, I was totally different. An insomnia patient who had a rough start to life and spent most of her sleepless nights crying. The person who dreamed of being a writer but the pressure of a middle-class Indian family wouldn't let her follow her passion. The fingers that always found relief after typing out her emotions started losing hope of reaching other broken hearts like her. The fingers that danced over the buttons of her keyboard like a sad soul playing the piano on a rainy night thinking about his beloved left teardrops in the pages of her diary. Studies didn't interest me at all but had to go to school inspite of everything.  Had to face daily scoldings from the teachers that everyone else found cool but one day I could no longer hold that mask back when my teacher insulted me about my vocabulary, my lack of knowledge and how useless I am...why does everyone think I'm a good-for-nothing? Tears streamed down breaking down the dams I've created for years to hide my real self. Coming back home, giving up on myself I got all my grandma's sleeping pills and took mine and swallowed them all, crying along and choking myself but still having them. All my memories hit me like a flashback as I lay on the bedroom floor waiting for my death sleep....alcoholic parents, growing up as an abandoned child, bullied for my color and looks at a young age but learning to fight everything and hide them and behaving like others at school...fooling around with people, flirting with boys, everything that made me look like a regular teenager. But I couldn't do that anymore. I can't wear this mask for the whole day. My body craved for the relief that I got behind the closed doors of my bedroom. But as I lay there, I promised myself...if I die,it's good but if I don't I'll work hard and harder to become a writer. But I don't know whether I'll wake up or not.........