Calculations

My every move is calculated. Every step, every hairstyle, every smile or frown, every outfit, everything I say, everything I do is calculated. 

 

It's calculated by me, I'm so obsessed with how I'm presenting myself that it's borderline. 

 

Do I look pretty? 

 

God, I bet I look so fat right now. What am I doing? I probably seem like such an idiot.

 

It's calculated by my enemies, they've always got their eye on me, ready to rip into me and tear me to shreds at every slight opportunity they find. They look and watch for any single reason to hate me. 

 

It's calculated by the my boyfriends friends. They're so obsessed with teasing me or looking for reasons I'm not good enough for their mate and they always notice me in the crowd. They're always ready to shout out my name and ask me how he's doing. 

 

I'm doing great, thanks for asking. 

 

His friends are always watching my social medias, looking for little clues like the songs I put on my story or the things I repost just in case there's some secret hidden message in them. 

 

There usually is. 

 

His friends are always ready to shoot bullets into me that knock me to the ground, make me feel not beautiful enough or skinny enough. 

 

And it's calculated by my mother. She needs to make sure that I'm okay and not throwing my life down a seemingly endless drain; to make sure I'm not smoking and staying at school. Half the time I'm doing the opposite.

 

Her calculations are wrong. 

 

But she thinks she's doing so good at keeping me stable so I'll let her have it.

 

Actually, my mother likes to calculate my every move except the ones where I'm manic and upset. Apparently, those movements don't exist to her.