"If Only They Knew"

---I love A Rocket to the Moon---

You paint your face
To feel brand new.
Never enough make-up
To cover your wounds.

So supposedly I'm smart. Naturally so, with the ability to take it information, regurgitate it, and when all else failed, BS until even I believe what I was saying. That used to matter to me. I used to care about being the smartest, the neatest, the one that teachers called home to remind parents of how wonderful their little one was. That used to matter. I used to be scared of punishment, scared of a failing grade, a raised voice, a threatening tone. Now the only thing that scares me is the realization that all that used to matter is so shallow now. I'm scared of myself, I'm scared of never feeling normal again. Always caring too much about what people say, yet never willing to change myself into someone that people would care about. They call me the crazy one? How do I prove them right? Up or down, indifferent or paranoid, silent or hyperactive, critical, mean, cynical, a constant ray of sunshine, a laugh, a smile, a tease, a skank, a prude? I'm never sure. I've been called them all. Sometimes when they joke that I'm bipolar, I want to scream, maybe I am, maybe I need help, but then I feel stupid. It's just a joke. There is no way that anything is actually wrong with me, not like that. If there was, something would've happened by now. Something dramatic, and scary, and bad, and noticeable, right? Someone would've figured it out. I just plant crazy ideas in my own head, and somehow my mind reacts to conform to it. I guess, I just wanted to create someone worth noticing, someone worth knowing, but one of the first laws of science is that you can't create something out of nothing. Can you?

In IB they want to create deep thinkers. They've spent the last year pounding our heads in Theory of Knowledge trying to see if maybe there was anything in there worth talking about. Giving us essays, and presentations; making us debate, argue and just share our feelings. In the last year the clearest revelation I've had was this (written on the back of an essay which apparently could never scratch more than the surface) and never to be seen by the eyes of my teacher who must think I'm apparently brain dead:

I was just thinking earlier about how I wasn't a very deep thinker. Sure, I overthink and overanalyze things, everyone knows that, but all of that, it's just shallow, just dusting off the sand and scratching the concrete, instead of digging in the dirt beside it. But then I thought, if I judged the worth of my thoughts on someone else's design of deepness, then I'd just be failling into a hole of... well, nothingness. I think that's even worse than drowning, because with drowning, it's the fear of hitting the bottom, but with nothing, once you dive in, where does it end?

I don't know, I just thought it was significant in some way.